EXCHANGE 


The  Observations  of  Professor  Maturin 


Columbia  University  Press  Sales  Agents 

New  York  :  Lemcke  £sf  Buechner 
JO-J2  West  27th  Street 

London  :  Humphrey  Milford 
Amen  Corner,  E.  C. 


The  Observations  of 
Professor  Maturin 

By 
Clyde  Furst 


New  York 

Columbia  University  Press 
1916 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Columbia  University  Press 
Printed  March,  1916 

Reprinted,  by  permission,  from 
'The  New  York  Evening  Post 


EXCHANGE 


D.  B.  Updike  •  The  Merrymount  Press  •  Boston 


e>  35 


Dedicated  to 

Professor  Maturin's 

Oldest  and  Best  Friend 

R.  E.  M. 


864917 


Table  of  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

i.    The  Staff  of  Life  3 

n.    'The  Sindbad  Society  17 

in.    Foreign  Travel  at  Rome  25 

iv.    Couniry  Life  35 

v.    Food  for  Thought  44 

vi.    He  side  the  Sea  54 

vii.     Christmas  65 

viii.    The  Sovran  Herb  7 $ 

ix.    Men's  Faces  85 

x.    ^Mental  Hygiene  94 

xi.    The  Mystery  of  T)ress  109 

xii.    Questions  at  Issue  1 1  y 

xin.    The  Fountain  of  Touth  122 

xiv.    The  Contemporary  Fittion  Company        130 

[vii] 


CHAPTER  PAGE 


Contents 

xv.  The  Old  Ttottor  137 

xvi.  'Breakfasting  with  Tortia  147 

xvu.  Summer  Science  157 

xvin.  Measuring  the  Mind  168 

xix.  The  Club  of  the  Bachelor  Maids          1 83 

xx.  *4  Small  College  192 

xxi.  Old  Town  Revisited  202 

xxn.  The  County  Fair  215 


Introduction 

IT  was  never  my  good  fortune  actually  to 
meet  Professor  Maturin,  or  even  to  see  him, 
although  in  the  latter  case  I  should  instantly 
have  recognized  him,  so  familiar  have  I  been 
through  my  mind's  eye,  at  least,  with  his  personal 
appearance  —  his  slender  figure  somewhat  stoop 
ing  with  the  bodily  inclination  of  the  scholar, 
the  clear-cut  features  that  could  only  have  fitted 
his  clear-cut  mind,  and  the  thoughtful  eyes  that 
were  their  necessary  concomitant.  I  had  known, 
of  course,  of  his  predilection  for  the  Athenaeum, 
and  his  habit  of  dining  at  that  club  of  intellectual 
and  gastronomic  repute,  and  I  was  aware  of  his 
membership  in  the  veracious  Sindbad  Society 
whose  meetings  he  frequently  attended;  but  here, 
too,  and  principally  from  the  fad,  no  doubt,  that 
I  was  a  member  of  neither,  I  had  never  been 
able  to  bring  about  the  much  desired  personal 
acquaintance  with  him. 

Of  acquaintance,  however,  and  even  of  a  fairly 
satisfactory  sort,  there  has  nevertheless  been  no 

[ix] 


Introduction 

lack,  for  I  have  read  much  that  Professor  Maturin 
has  written,  and  I  have  remembered,  although 
inadequately  enough,  many  of  the  things  that  he 
has  said  with  such  understanding  and  insight  of 
the  real  bearing  of  individual  experience,  along 
quite  extraordinarily  extended  lines,  upon  the 
wide  problems  of  human  existence. 

It  is  so  much  the  more  a  pleasure,  accordingly, 
to  me,  and  as  it  will  be  to  all  those  who  have  read 
Professor  Maturin  before  only  sporadically  and 
at  intervals,  at  length  to  have  the  opportunity  to 
read  him  consecutively,  and  thus  to  get  those 
side-lights  and  reflections  of  understanding  that 
can  only  come  with  a  reasonable  contiguity  of 
statement. 

In  the  present  book,  moreover,  we  shall  be 
able  to  read  the  sayings  of  this  philosopher  of  the 
cheerful  mind  as  they  have  been  remembered 
and  recorded  by  one  who,  better  than  any  one 
else  at  all,  knew  Professor  Maturin  as  he  thought, 
and  as  he  spoke,  and  as  he  had  his  being.  It  is 
a  record,  as  it  will  be  very  easy  to  discover,  of 
one  who  has  thought  much  and  thought  well,  for 


Introduction 

there  is  a  great  difference,  as  we  all  know,  in  the 
quality  as  well  as  in  the  quantity  of  thinking.  In 
it  all  there  is  an  intellectual  optimism  that  inev 
itably  follows  the  thought  wherever  it  roams — 
and  it  often  roams  far  afield — which  is  one  of 
the  thrice  blessed  things  of  life.  If  through  it  all 
there  runs,  as  again  may  clearly  be  seen,  the  visi 
ble  thread  of  the  conscious  pursuit  of  happiness, 
Professor  Maturin  is  no  mere  eudemonist  whose 
belly  is  his  god  and  whose  goal  is  pleasure,  but 
rather  one  who  sees  in  the  attainment  of  personal 
happiness  the  rightful  accessory  of  a  rounded  and 
rational  living.  And  with  it  all,  and  notwithstand 
ing  his  calling,  and  in  spite  of  the  facl:  that  he 
himself  must  have  been  conscious  of  an  unusual 
knowledge  which  leads  him  at  times  even  into 
the  imperilled  field  of  epigram,  it  is  all  done,  not 
with  a  pedantic  air  of  professorial  sophistication, 
but  with  genuine  human  sympathy.  And  in  this 
spirit  he  is  commended  to  that  wider  circle  of 
readers  who  are  now  to  be  able  to  know  him. 
WILLIAM  H.  CARPENTER 

Columbia  University 
February  14,  1916 


The  Observations  of  Professor  Maturin 


M 


I 

The  Staff  of  Life 

Y  friend  Professor  Bedelar  Maturin  exer 
cises  the  right  of  a  bachelor  and  a  man  ,of 
fifty  to  a  considerable  number  of  eccentricities. 
All  of  these  are  harmless,  since  he  is,b,y  natyrf;  a 
gentleman;  and,  his  habit  being  that  of  a  scholar, 
some  of  them  are  of  more  than  ordinary  interest. 
I  very  well  remember  my  first  learning  of  that 
one  I  am  about  to  describe.  My  family  having 
left  town  for  the  summer,  I  found  him  dining 
at  the  Athenaeum,  as  I  knew  him  frequently  to 
do  for  the  sake  of  detachment  from  the  bachelor 
menage  he  maintains  —  as  much  for  his  books  as 
for  himself — in  a  house  near  the  river,  not  far 
from  the  university. 

He  beckoned  me  to  take  my  already  ordered 
dinner  at  the  particular  corner  table  for  which  his 
preference  is  always  respected  by  his  fellow  Athe 
nians,  and,  after  a  smile  of  greeting,  he  passed 
over  to  me  the  book  he  had  been  reading — "  The 
Physiology  of  Taste,"  by  Brillat-Savarin  —  with 
the  quiet  comment,  "The  standard  and  gauge 
of  modern  civilization." 

I  had  never  before  seen  the  work  of  that  high- 
[3] 


The  Observations  of 

priest  of  gastronomy,  but  before  examining  it  I 
looked  my  surprise  at  the  apparent  enthusiasm 
of  the  scholar  whose  abstemious  habits  were  well 
known  to  his  friends,  and  whose  slender  figure, 
thoughtful  eyes,  and  clear-cut  features  made  it 
irnpos&ihh-  to  associate  him  with  the  pleasures  of 
•  the 'table:  'For  reply  he  merely  indicated  several 
^  '//.ofibp, "  Fupcjamental  Truths  of  the  Science,"  on 
'  trie  open  page  before  me : 

"  But  for  life  the  universe  were  nothing;  and 
all  that  has  life  requires  nourishment." 

"  The  fate  of  nations  depends  upon  how  they 
are  fed." 

"  The  man  of  sense  and  culture  alone  under 
stands  eating." 

I  was  familiar  with  Dean  Swift's  tracing  the 
origin  of  certain  essays  to  the  consumption  of  par 
ticular  varieties  of  cheese,  and  I  had  read  Ma- 
turin's  own  whimsical  paragraphs  explaining  the 
peculiarities  of  certain  national  literatures  by  the 
characteristics  of  their  national  beverages,  and 
paralleling  the  growth  of  humanitarianism  with 
the  increasing  use  of  tobacco,  of  which  he  is  spar 
ing;  but  he  seemed  now  to  be  serious,  so  that 
I  merely  asked  what  he  made  of  such  a  state 
ment  as  the  following,  which  I  read  from  his 
author:  "The  discovery  of  a  new  dish  does  more 
[4] 


Professor  Maturin 

for  the  happiness  of  the  human  race  than  the  dis 
covery  of  a  planet." 

Explaining  that  he  would  have  the  author 
convince  me,  rather  than  himself,  he  indicated 
yet  another  paragraph:  "What  praise  can  be 
refused  the  science  which  sustains  us  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave,  which  entrances  the  delights 
of  love  and  the  pleasures  of  friendship,  which  dis 
arms  hatred,  makes  business  easier,  and  affords 
us,  during  the  short  voyage  of  our  lives,  the  only 
enjoyments  that  both  relieve  us  from  fatigue  and 
themselves  entail  none!" 

"Take  it,  and  read  it,"  he  said,  as  I  looked 
up.  "  I  know  it  by  heart."  I  gladly  accepted  the 
volume,  for  there  was  here  evidently  more  than 
appeared;  but  I  also  expressed  the  wish  that  he 
would,  himself,  first  tell  me  more  about  it;  and 
this,  retaking  the  book,  his  own  dinner  being  now 
finished  and  mine  but  about  to  begin,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  do. 

"  I  should  not  need  to  remind  you,"  he  began, 
"that  I  am  no  friend  to  indulgence,  much  less 
to  so  gross  a  form  as  over-feeding,  nor  to  speak 
of  my  known  antagonism  to  every  form  of  ig 
norance — except  to  explain  that  it  is  for  these 
reasons  that  I  have  become  an  earnest  advocate 
of  gastronomy,  which  endeavors  to  transform 
[  5] 


The  Observations  of 

eating  from  the  ignorant  indulgence  it  usually  is 
to  a  reasonable  science  of  nutrition  and  a  refined 
art  of  enjoyment.  Whatever  popular  disesteem 
the  science  and  the  art  still  suffer  is  due  either  to 
ignorance  of  its  serious  endeavor,  or  to  a  Puri 
tanic  attitude  that  is  both  inconsistent  and  irrev 
erent.  The  fabric  of  nature  is  so  constituted  that 
all  of  our  essential  processes  are  accompanied  by 
pleasure;  a  thoroughly  consistent  ascetic  would 
necessarily  cease  to  exist. 

"Anthelme  Brillat-Savarin,  although  of  course 
not  the  founder  of  gastronomy,  is  its  most  admir 
able  modern  champion.  He  lived  from  the  first 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century  through  the  first 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth,  first  as  mayor  of  his 
native  town  of  Belley  in  France ;  then,  during  the 
Revolution,  an  exile  in  Switzerland  and  in  Amer 
ica;  and,  finally,  during  the  last  third  of  his  life, 
a  judge  in  Paris  of  the  highest  national  court. 
The  fame  of  his  professional  wisdom  and  justice 
was  great,  but  that  of  his  personal  benevolence 
and  geniality  was  far  greater.  The  choicest  flavor 
and  charm  of  many  years  of  social  life  he  pre 
served  in  the  book  he  apparently  intended  to 
leave,  at  his  death,  as  a  legacy  of  good  cheer  to 
his  friends.  The  record  of  his  love  of  good  living 
was  to  serve  him,  a  bachelor,  as  a  posterity. 
[6] 


Professor  Maturin 

"  His  fears  that  so  genial  a  production  might 
seem  inconsistent  with  his  judicial  dignity  were 
overcome  by  arguments  which  are  given  in  a 
prefatory  dialogue,  and  the  volume  was  published 
anonymously  in  1825,  a  year  before  his  death. 
Even  in  so  short  a  time  the  book  was  crowned  with 
extraordinary  popularity.  Although  one  would 
hesitate,  perhaps,  to  call  it  'adorable,'  as  Balzac 
did,  it  is  certainly  one  of  those  rarely  spontaneous 
and  charming  outpourings  of  personality  that  be 
long  apart  with  White's  'Selborne'  and  Walton's 
'Angler.' 

"In  addition  to  the  Prefatory  Dialogue  and 
the  Fundamental  Truths,  already  mentioned,  the 
little  volume  includes  a  Preface,  thirty  'Medi 
tations,'  or  chapters,  and,  in  conclusion,  a  dozen 
narrative  and  descriptive  'Varieties'  bearing 
upon  the  subject.  The  whole  amounts  to  less  than 
three  hundred  small  pages. 

"The  earlier  chapters  on  the  senses  of  taste, 

appetite,  and  thirst  are  largely  physiological  or 

psychological,  but  even  here  the  author  carries 

out  with  charm  his  intention  of  touching  but 

lightly  subjects  likely  to  be  dull.  Throughout  he 

practices  the  preaching  of  the  mad  poet  Blake, 

—  'To  particularize  is  the  great  distinction  of 

merit,'  —  and  everywhere  he  introduces  original 

[  7  ] 


The  Observations  of 

anecdotes,  witticisms,  and  similar  side-dishes. 
Although  Savarin  separates  the  functions  of  taste 
into  direct,  complete,  and  reflective,  he  finds  him 
self  unable  to  classify  its  results  further  than  to 
suggest  some  such  gradation  as,  —  positive,  beef; 
comparative,  veal;  superlative,  pheasant.  For 
its  greatest  satisfaction  one  should  eat  slowly 
and  in  minute  portions  —  all  that  is  valuable  of 
'Fletcherism'  in  a  sentence.  Anything  else  would 
be  unworthy  of  our  perfected  organism,  'the  struc 
ture  of  the  tongue  of  all  animals  being  analogous 
to  the  reach  of  their  intelligence.'  Under  'Thirst' 
there  is  a  similar,  but  even  more  daringly  imagi 
native  observation:  'The  desire  for  fermented 
liquors  and  curiosity  about  a  future  state  are  the 
two  distinctive  attributes  of  man  as  the  master 
piece  of  nature.' 

"  Perhaps  the  most  valuable,  certainly  the  most 
pleasing,  of  the  chapters  are  those  on  'Gastron 
omy,'  'The  Love  of  Good  Living,"  People  Fond 
of  Good  Living,'  'Gastronomic  Tests,'  and  'The 
Pleasures  of  the  Table.' 

"  Gastronomy  is  defined  as '  the  scientific  know 
ledge  of  all  that  relates  to  man  as  an  eater;' 
being  founded  upon  natural  history,  physics, 
chemistry,  economics,  and  cookery,  as  well  as  on 
the  sciences  already  touched  upon;  and  affecting 
[8] 


Professor  Maturin 

physically,  mentally,  and  morally,  every  individ 
ual,  of  every  class  of  society,  every  moment  of 
his  life.  Some  knowledge  of  it  is  therefore  indis 
pensable  to  all,  and  the  more  as  one  ascends  the 
social  scale;  it  being  well  known  that  the  most 
momentous  decisions  of  personal  and  of  national 
life  are  made  at  table. 

"'The  Love  of  Good  Living'  is  shown  to  be 
not  merely  a  physical,  but  an  intellectual  and  a 
moral  quality  as  well,  'almost  deserving  to  rank 
as  a  virtue;'  opposingexcess,  developing  discrim 
ination,  promoting  physical  health,  and  aiding 
moral  resignation  to  the  laws  of  nature.  In  addi 
tion,  it  is  an  easily  and  constantly  available  source 
ot  natural  and  innocent  pleasure  in  a  world  of 
pain. 

"People  fond  of  good  living,  especially  physi 
cians,  men  of  letters,  churchmen,  and  people  of 
sense  and  culture  in  general, —  others  being  in 
capable  of  the  necessary  appreciation  and  judg 
ment, —  always  live  longer  than  ordinary  men. 
Napoleon's  worst  defeats  were  due  to  his  inju 
dicious  diet.  The  wise  in  regard  to  food  may 
usually  be  known  by  their  mere  appearance,  but 
for  cases  of  doubt  Brillat-Savarin  suggests  a  series 
of  '  Gastronomic  Tests,'  or  dishes,  of  such  in 
disputable  excellence  that  those  who  do  not  in- 
[9  3 


The  Observations  of 

stan tly  respond  may  immediately  be  declared  un 
worthy.  Thus:  For  a  small  income,  filet  of  veal 
larded  with  bacon,  or  sauerkraut  bristling  with 
sausages;  for  a  moderate  income,  filet  of  beef 
with  gravy,  or  boiled  turbot;  for  a  generous  in 
come,  truffled  turkey,  or  stuffed  pike  with  cream 
of  prawns.  It  is  important  in  these  tests  that  gen 
erous  portions  be  provided,  for  quantity  as  well 
as  quality  has  its  effect. 

"The  conclusion  of  the  meditation  'On  the 
Pleasures  of  the  Table '  must  be  quoted  entire, 
so  worthy  is  it  of  a  place  in  'The  Golden  Book 
of  Hospitality:'  'Let  the  number  of  guests  be 
small,  that  the  conversation  may  be  constantly 
general;  of  various  occupations,  but  analogous 
tastes;  the  men  of  wit  without  pretension,  the 
women  pleasant,  but  not  coquettish.  Let  the 
dishes  be  few  but  choice,  and  the  wines  of  the 
first  quality;  the  order  from  the  more  substantial 
to  the  lighter,  the  simpler  to  the  finer  flavors.  Let 
the  meal  proceed  without  hurry  or  bustle ;  the  cof 
fee  be  hot,  the  liqueurs  chosen  with  care.  Let  the 
room  to  which  the  guests  retire  be  large  enough 
for  cards,  for  those  who  cannot  do  without  them, 
while  leaving  ample  scope  for  conversation;  the 
guests  animated  with  the  hope  of  still  further 
pleasure.  Then  let  the  tea  be  not  too  strong,  the 


Professor  Maturin 

toast  artistically  buttered,  the  punch  skilfully 
made.  Finally,  let  nobody  leave  before  eleven, 
and  everybody  be  in  bed  by  twelve.' 

"After  reaching  such  an  elevation,  Brillat-Sa- 
varin  wisely  follows  the  dramatic  principle  of 
relief,  by  introducing  anecdotes  of  the  halts  of 
a  hunting  party,  and  chapters  on  digestion,  rest, 
sleep,  and  dreams.  His  observations  and  illustra 
tions  are  always  interesting  and  picturesque,  fre 
quently  very  suggestive,  and  sometimes  strik 
ingly  modern  —  as  when  he  says,  'Digestion,  of 
all  the  bodily  functions,  has  most  influence  on 
the  morale  of  the  individual;'  when  he  recom 
mends  for  sleeping  an  airy  room,  no  bed  cur 
tains,  and  light  but  warm  coverings;  or  when 
he  discusses  foods  that  produce  sleep,  and  those 
that  induce  pleasant  dreams. 

"The  theme  of  the  meditation  'On  Corpu 
lence' —  'The  great  majority  of  us  eat  and  drink 
too  much'- -is  of  such  general  and  permanent 
applicability  that  it  is  rediscovered  every  decade 
and  announced  with  trumpets.  The  chapter  'On 
the  Prevention  or  Cure  of  Corpulence '  outlines 
the  diet  by  means  of  which  for  thirty  years  the  au 
thor  kept  that  tendency  in  himself 'to  the  limit 
of  the  imposing'  —  a  statement  that  his  portrait 
well  bears  out.  After  a  counter  meditation  on 


The  Observations  of 

leanness,  some  felicitations  over  the  decline  of 
fasting,  and  an  excursus  on  'Exhaustion  and 
Death' — 'Death  itself  being  not  unaccompa 
nied  by  pleasure  when  it  is  natural' — the  au 
thor  is  again  ready  for  a  higher  flight. 

"This  occurs  in  the  longest  chapters  of  the 
book,  in  the  form  of 'A  Philosophical  History 
of  Cookery,  Ancient,  Mediaeval,  and  Modern,' 
with  an  appendix,  'On  Parisian  Dining-Houses.' 
Here,  indeed,  is  richness:  the  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  eating  raw  meat;  the  primitive 
feasting  in  the  'Iliad;'  the  advent  of  boiling  in 
the  Old  Testament;  how  Cadmus  brought  the 
alphabet  and  good  cooking  to  Greece;  the  elab 
orate  and  sometimes  strange  taste  of  the  Romans, 
—as  for  dormice  and  assafoetida,  —  and  a  survey 
of  the  ancient  literature  of  the  subject,  from  the 
fragmentary  poem  on  gastronomy  by  Archestra- 
tus,  to  the  convivial  poetry  of  Horace  and  Ti- 
bullus.  The  whole  story  is  told,  although  briefly, 
excepting  only  the  peculiar  taste  of  the  Greeks 
for  mingling  sea-water  and  turpentine  with  their 
wines. 

"The  mediaeval  and  modern  development  of 
the  art  is  sketched,  although  of  necessity  more 
rapidly,  from  the  rescue  of  cookery  from  barba 
rism  by  Charlemagne ;  through  the  introduction 

t "] 


Professor  Maturin 

of  spices  from  the  East,  garlic  from  Palestine, 
parsley  from  Italy,  coffee  from  Turkey,  and  the 
potato  from  America;  to  the  ages  of  pastry  and 
of  sugar,  and  the  final  culmination  of  the  art  in 
political  gastronomy.  Every  line  of  this  section 
contains  such  good  things  as  'coffee  should  be 
crushed,  not  ground;'  and,  4It  was  Talleyrand 
who  first  brought  from  Italy  the  custom  of  tak 
ing  Parmesan  cheese  with  soup.'  But  to  select 
would  be  to  quote  the  whole. 

"Restaurants  —  unhappily  Savarin  could  not 
know  the  modem  derivation  from  res  and  taurus 
—appear  to  have  been  invented  in  Paris  in  1770. 
There  is  a  fascinating  picture  of  the  best  of  the 
author's  time,  with  three  hundred  dishes  and  a 
hundred  wines ;  a  height  of  eloquence  over  the 
cosmopolitan  sources  of  a  good  dinner;  and  yet 
higher  soaring  over 'the  Parisian  missionaries  of 
the  doctrine  throughout  the  civilized  world. 

"  Nor  does  inspiration  wane  in  the  chapter  on 
'Gastronomic  Principles  Put  into  Practice' — 'the 
treasures  of  nature  were  not  created  to  be  trodden 
under  foot ...  a  good  dinner  is  but  little  dearer 
than  a  bad  one  ...  a  man  may  show  himself  a 
distinguished  connoisseur  without  going  beyond 
the  limits  of  his  actual  needs.' 

"The  last  chapter, 4  Gastronomic  Mythology/ 

[13] 


The  Observations  of 

is  pure  creation — of  Gasterea,  the  tenth  muse, 
her  nature,  habit,  asped,  and  worship;  and  then 
— for  like  Donne,  'when  he  is  done,  he  is  not 
done,  for  there  is  more ' —  comes  a  '  Transition : ' 
4  In  writing  I  had  a  double  obje<5t ...  to  lay  down 
the  fundamental  theory  of  gastronomy,  so  that 
she  would  take  her  place  among  the  sciences  in 
that  rank  to  which  she  has  an  incontestable  right. 
The  second,  to  define  with  precision  what  must 
be  understood  by  the  love  of  good  living,  so  that 
for  all  time  that  social  quality  may  be  kept  apart 
from  gluttony  and  intemperance,  with  which 
many  have  absurdly  confounded  it.J 

"  Finally  follow  the  generous  dozen  of  short 
'varieties'  —  anecdotes  like  'The  Cure's  Ome 
lette;'  personal  experiences  of 'The  Gastronome 
Abroad,'  some  in  America;  original  recipes  and 
original  verse;  and  an  '  Historical  Elegy,'  in  pity 
for  the  gastronomic  ignorance  of  the  past,  and  in 
prophetic  vision  of  the  full  gastronomic  glories 
of  the  year  nineteen  hundred. 

"But,  alas,"  said  Professor  Maturin,  slowly 
closing  the  book,  "  I  cannot  wish  that  he  were 
here.  The  world  is  not  yet  ready  for  his  message; 
he  should  have  added  another  hundred  years.  It 
was  fifty  years  before  his  work  was  well  enough 
known  outside  of  France  to  be  translated;  and 
[  '4] 


Professor  Maturin 

even  to-day,  in  spite  of  all  its  delightful  quali 
ties,  not  one  in  a  hundred,  even  among  reading 
men,  know  it.  And  yet,  there  has  never  been  any 
thing  quite  like  it.  Such  a  rare  combination  of 
race,  time,  and  personality;  of  experience,  culti 
vation,  and  taste,  seldom  occurs  more  than  once. 
But  no  other  is  necessary;  nothing  can  be  better 
than  the  best,  and  Savarin  has  handled  his  theme 
with  unapproachable  wisdom  and  charm,  once 
for  all. 

"The  science  has,  of  course,  progressed  im 
mensely  since  his  day.  You  may  nil  your  shelves 
with  portentous  tomes  on  food  and  dietetics,  and 
with  experimental  pamphlets  from  the  Depart 
ment  of  Agriculture.  Educators  have  introduced 
instruction  concerning  food  into  the  curriculum 
of  the  modern  school.  And  I  understand  that 
there  are  magazines  of  practical  cookery  for  such 
ladies  as  look  to  the  affairs  of  their  households. 
But  as  for  Brillat-Savarin's  hope  that  the  science 
and  the  art  of  gastronomy,  as  he  elaborated  it, 
would  soon  become  a  part  of  the  faith  and  prac 
tice,  the  delight  as  well  as  the  duty,  of  all  culti 
vated  people,  —  that  is  yet  far  from  fulfilment. 

"  But,  my  good  friend,"  and  here  Professor 
Maturin  rose,  shaking  his  long  forefinger,  "the 
truth  will  undoubtedly  prevail,  'though  long 
[  '5] 


Professor  Maturin 

deferred,  though  long  deferred,'  as  Lanier  says. 
Take  the  book,  and  keep  it — I  make  a  practice 
of  distributing  copies — read  it;  you  cannot 
help  doing  so  at  a  single  sitting;  talk  about  it; 
become,  like  me,  a  propagandist,  and  the  bless 
ing  of  Gasterea  will  go  with  you.  Good-night." 
And  he  was  gone. 

My  friend  Professor  Maturin  spoke  the  very 
truth.  I  finished  the  book  before  I  left  my  seat, 
and  then  and  there  became  a  fellow  equestrian 
to  Banbury  Cross.  Deliberately  and  with  pre- 
pensive  aforethought,  I  invite  the  reader  to  do 
the  same,  and  thereby  to  gain  not  only  personal 
pleasure  and  profit,  but,  in  addition,  the  greater 
satisfaction  of  contributing  a  lasting  good  to 
others. 


T 


II 

The  Sindbad  Society 

HE  writer  recently  enjoyed  the  great  privi 
lege  of  being  the  guest  of  his  friend,  Pro 
fessor  Maturin,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Sindbad 
Society,  an  organization  for  the  enjoyment  of 
informal  discussion  concerning  the  theory  and 
pradice,  the  graces  and  the  usefulness,  of  foreign 
travel. 

Similar  in  purpose  to  the  Travellers7  Club  of 
London,  but  lacking  anything  like  the  equip 
ment  of  that  body's  sumptuous  Pall  Mall  home, 
the  Sindbad  Society  endeavors  to  fulfil  its  func 
tion  by  means  of  occasional  dinners  in  the  pri 
vate  rooms  of  other  clubs.  Indeed,  I  was  given 
to  understand  that  the  members  were  unanimous 
in  considering  a  local  habitation,  or  immovable 
property  of  any  sort,  to  be  most  inappropriate 
for  a  club  the  very  essence  of  which  was  pere 
grination.  My  neighbor  at  the  large  round  din 
ner  table  averred  that  to  own  even  a  portrait  of 
Sindbad  the  Sailor,  the  mythical  founder  and 
patron  of  the  club,  would  be  to  embody  in  a  con 
crete  object  sentiments  of  value  only  so  long  as 
they  animated  the  mind. 

[  '7] 


The  Observations  of 

As  we  took  our  places  at  table,  it  became  evi 
dent,  in  spite  of  the  recreative  character  of  the 
club,  that  here  was  no  body  of  amateurs,  to  whom 
travel  meant  merely  London  and  Paris,  the  Rhine 
and  the  Riviera.  I  recognized  a  former  director 
of  the  American  School  in  Rome,  an  artist  and 
a  craftsman  who  had  just  returned  from  Japan 
and  India,  an  importer  of  things  Persian,  and 
a  biologist  who  spent  half  his  time  in  the  South 
Seas.  Professor  Maturin  described  the  other 
members  to  me  as  an  engineer  who  had  devel 
oped  oil  wells  in  China,  an  archaeologist  who  di- 
reded  excavations  in  Syria,  former  secretaries  of 
legation  at  St.  Petersburg  and  at  Constantinople, 
an  army  officer  from  Manila,  and  an  explorer 
who  had  climbed  everything  but  the  mountains 
of  the  moon. 

The  dinner,  although  entirely  without  pose, 
was  intentionally  and  interestingly  exotic.  Rus 
sian  preserved  cucumbers  and  a  soup  of  chest 
nuts  from  the  south  of  France  were  followed  by 
an  entree  of  lamb,  prepared  according  to  a  Con 
stantinople  recipe,  and  by  boned  capon.  The 
colonel  mixed  a  Filipino  salad-dressing,  and  with 
it  the  archaeologist  supplied  cigarettes  made  of 
coffee  leaves.  Finally,  the  engineer  introduced  a 
South  American  dessert  of  ripe  red  bananas, 

t '«] 


Professor  Maturin 

guava  jelly,  and  sharp  cheese,  and  with  this  was 
served  Carlsbad  burnt-fig  coffee.  The  wines,  al 
though  poured  sparingly,  were  as  interesting  as 
the  food.  The  cigars  were  Cuban  vegueras.  The 
endeavor,  which  was  surely  realized  throughout, 
had  evidently  been  to  seek  the  unusual,  not  for  the 
sake  of  mere  strangeness,  but  for  an  excellence 
unattainable  through  the  ordinary. 

The  same  might  be  said  of  the  talk  which  ac 
companied  the  meal.  It  was  anything  but  con 
scious  or  formal,  and  yet  I  noticed  that  leading 
questions  were  not  only  allowed  but  expecled, 
and  that  it  was  the  custom  of  the  entire  company 
to  listen  when  any  conversation  became  gener 
ally  interesting.  In  this  way  I  enjoyed  a  whole 
series  of  descriptions  of  forests  and  mountains,  riv 
ers  and  deserts,  of  barbarous  and  unfrequented 
countries,  of  harbors  and  fortifications,  cities  and 
courts,  cathedrals  and  colleges,  libraries  and  mu 
seums;  with  anecdotes  of  experience  and  ad 
venture,  of  state  and  society,  of  beautiful  women 
and  distinguished  men. 

The  near  distance  of  Europe  was  by  no  means 
forgotten,  but  it  was  discussed  in  a  way  that  made 
me  feel  that  I  must,  in  Bacon's  phrase,  have 
gone  there  "hooded,"  or,  at  least,  as  the  mythi 
cal  American  who  checked  off  each  city  in  his 

[  19] 


The  Observations  of 

Baedeker  after  a  hurried  glance  about  him  from 
the  top  of  some  tall  building.  In  particular,  I  was 
possessed  with  successive  desires  to  make  good 
my  deficiencies  by  going  at  once  to  live  at  a 
wonderful  small  hotel  across  the  river  in  Paris,  vis 
iting  a  certain  sculptor's  studio  in  Madrid,  dream 
ing  on  the  terraces  of  Lake  Maggiore,  and  hear 
ing  the  opera  by  telephone  at  Budapest.  When 
the  talk  ranged  more  widely,  as  it  did  for  the 
most  part,  I  longed  to  observe  a  volcano  and  ex 
perience  an  earthquake  in  action,  and  determined 
to  journey  without  delay  to  Damascus  for  the 
sake  of  its  baths  and  cafes,  "the  most  exquisitely 
luxurious  in  the  world;"  that  is,  if  I  did  not 
decide,  instead,  for  Shepherd's  hotel  at  Cairo,  or, 
perhaps,  the  vale  of  Thingvalla  in  Iceland. 

With  the  cigars,  the  conversation  shifted  from 
details  of  observation  and  experience,  by  way  of 
penetrative  comment  on  men  and  manners,  until 
it  reached  what  seemed,  at  least  to  me,  profound 
conclusions  concerning  national  and  social  char 
acteristics.  The  classical  scholar,  with  a  majority 
of  the  other  members,  opposed  the  craftsman  and 
the  engineer,  in  ascribing  a  certain  monotony  and 
shallowness  to  Japanese  life,  in  spite  of  its  old 
aestheticism  and  its  new  efficiency.  Both  of  the 
diplomats  endorsed  the  Persian  specialist's  state- 


Professor  Maturin 

ment  that  "the  hope  of  the  East  is  in  Western 
inoculation;  it  will  never  regenerate  itself."  "  Nor 
be  regenerated,"  growled  the  colonel.  "  From  my 
point  of  view,"  replied  the  artist,  "it  has  no  need 
to.  Nature  is  the  absolute  artist, and  nowhere  else 
do  people  live  so  close  to  her.  Rare  natural  beauty, 
a  constant  sun,  and  a  mellow  atmosphere  give 
existence  there  such  an  intensity  and  richness  that 
mere  living  becomes  an  art — 'pure  pomegranate, 
not  banana,'  as  they  say  in  Egypt."  "It  takes  the 
eyes  of  love  to  see  angels,"  concluded  the  ar 
chaeologist.  "  Natural  savages  may  be  noble,  but 
effete  races  are  not,  and  such  most  of  the  Eastern 
peoples  seem  to  me.  However,  I  may  be  wrong, 
or  at  least  narrow;  toleration  is  the  great  lesson 
of  travel." 

After  a  number  of  such  discussions,  which 
were  listened  to  by  all,  the  company  returned  by 
general  consent  to  more  specific  topics  —  plans, 
principally,  for  future  journeys.  These  had  but  a 
melancholy  interest  for  me,  who  had  not  the  re 
motest  hope  of  realizing  any  of  them,  until  the 
conversation  became  once  more  general  in  outlin 
ing  an  ideal  rapid  journey  around  the  world.  This 
whirled  me  past  Honolulu  palm  trees  and  cra 
ters,  amid  Japanese  cherry-blossoms  and  wistaria, 
along  the  Great  Wall  of  China,  through  Canton 


The  Observations  of 

gardens  and  bazaars,  into  Calcutta  palaces  and 
Delhi  temples,  by  dahabeah  in  Egypt  and  camel 
in  Syria,  until  I  caught  my  breath  once  more  in 
the  midst  of  the  Mediterranean. 

But  the  most  valuable  part  of  the  evening,  and 
to  me  the  most  enjoyable,  if  satisfaction  is  to  be 
measured  by  what  one  remembers  longest,  was 
the  concluding  half-hour,  when  every  member  of 
the  group,  quite  unconsciously  I  am  sure,  fell  to 
felicitating  every  other  member  on  the  success  of 
the  evening,  the  value  of  travel,  and  the  pleasure 
and  profit  of  thus  discussing  it. 

I  had,  myself,  experienced  vicariously  some 
of  the  delights  of  filling  in  the  blank  spaces  on 
the  map  of  the  world  with  picturesque  scenes  and 
animated  figures.  I  had  noted  with  interest  how 
the  habit  of  observation  seemed  to  lead  inevit 
ably  to  comparison,  and  that  to  generalization 
and  conclusion.  It  had  been  no  small  satisfaction 
to  learn  how  adequately  the  human  frame  and 
mind  had  met  and  withstood  the  severer  expe 
riences  of  the  more  daring — how  small,  after  all, 
were  the  world's  greatest  difficulties  and  dangers 
to  the  unconquerable  spirit.  But  it  was  most  grat 
ifying  of  all  to  realize  that  the  general  experi 
ence  had  resulted  not  in  distrust,  but  in  belief  in 
the  fundamental  kindliness,  if  not  goodness,  of 


Professor  Maturin 

general  human  nature;  and  in  a  firm  conviftion 
that  the  world  as  a  whole  was  visibly  advancing 
in  material,  mental,  and  moral  well-being. 

I  had,  naturally,  never  questioned  the  charm 
of  travel  as  a  recreation,  but  this  evening  gave 
me  a  new  sense  of  its  superior  value  as  experi 
ence  and  education.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  travel 
required  no  ordinary  equipment  of  perception, 
knowledge,  and  judgment— of  sensitiveness  to 
impressions,  with  material  to  compare  and  abil 
ity  to  value;  that  indifferent  travel  would  serve 
only,  as  Rousseau  said  of  indifferent  reading,  "to 
make  presumptuous  ignoramuses."  But,  although 
I   had   long  believed   that   the  observant  and 
thoughtful  home-keeping  man  might  attain  an 
understanding  of  himself  and  even  of  his  nation, 
I  came  now  to  doubt  that  there  was  any  means 
other  than  foreign  travel  for  developing  a  realiza 
tion  of  what  is  really  fundamental  to  the  general 
human  spirit. 

In  voicing  to  Professor  Maturin  my  gratitude 
for  the  pleasure  and  profit  of  the  evening,  I  found 
that  he  had  observed  me  growing  a  trifle  stale, 
and  had  designedly  administered  this  meeting  as 
a  remedy.  He  expressed  his  opinion  that  I  was 
already  out  of  danger,  judging  from  my  evident 
appreciation,  with  Shakespeare,  that  "a  good 
[  23  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

traveller  is  something  at  the  latter  end  of  a  din 
ner."  And  he  beamed  on  me  as  mellowly  as  the 
moon  when,  at  parting,  I  expressed  my  intention 
of  continuing  the  medicine,  homoeopathically, 
through  books  of  travel,  until  my  wonted  tone 
was  entirely  restored.  The  whole  prescription 
worked  such  wonders  as  a  tonic  that  I  strongly 
recommend  it  to  others. 


I 


Ill 

Foreign  Travel  at  Home 

TH  ANKyou,"  said  Professor  Maturin,  lay 
ing  aside  the  manuscript  he  had  been  read 
ing  me,  in  order  to  test  its  appeal, — "I  thank 
you.  I  am  only  afraid  that  you  are  too  generous. 
But,  in  any  case,  I  am  very  grateful,  and  I  hope 
that  you  will  allow  me  to  be  at  your  service 
during  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  Do  I  not 
see  you  looking  somewhat  dispirited  again?  Are 
you  not  neglecting  your  mental  hygiene*?"  and, 
leaning  forward  from  his  circle  of  lamplight, 
he  peered  at  me  anxiously. 

I  replied  with  one  affirmative  for  both  que 
ries,  but  pleaded  misfortune  rather  than  fault.  I 
knew  that  I  was  in  serious  need  of  variety,  but 
I  had  found  that  the  specific  he  had  recom 
mended —  the  atmosphere  of  foreign  travel — 
no  longer  satisfied  the  demand.  On  the  contrary, 
it  aggravated  my  distemper,  by  adding  to  an 
already  overpowering  sense  of  monotony  an 
impossible  desire  to  fly  to  the  uttermost  parts  of 
the  earth.  Books  of  travel  and  my  friends'  discus 
sions  of  their  coming  journeys  merely  increased 
my  distress. 


The  Observations  of 

"So-o?"  said  Professor  Maturin.  "So-o-o?" 
leaning  back  in  his  huge  leather  chair,  and  put 
ting  his  finger  and  thumb  tips  together.  "Well, 
I  suspected  as  much,  and  I  fear  that  I  am  at  least 
partly  to  blame  for  your  condition.  I  prescribed 
a  remedy  that  you  have  come  to  find  worse  than 
the  disease,  and,  apparently,  you  have  come  at 
the  same  time  to  a  new  realization  of  Steven 
son's  saying  that  'books  are  all  very  well  in  their 
way,  but  they  are  a  mighty  bloodless  substitute 
for  life' — not  that  I  would  be  disrespectful  to 
my  best  friends,"  and  he  smiled  at  the  well- 
filled  shelves  which  extend  around  his  admira 
ble  library. 

"You  will  not  think  me  unsympathetic  when 
I  say  that  I  have  been  waiting  for  this  symp 
tom,"  he  continued.  "It  is  an  important  part  of 
your  cure.  Some  day  I  will  explain  to  you  my 
entire  system  of  mental  hygiene,  but  there  is  not 
time  for  that  to-night,  nor  are  you  quite  ready  for 
it  until  you  ad  upon  my  next  and  final  recom 
mendation. 

"You  will  remember  that  Emerson  said, '  Our 
first  journeys  discover  to  us  the  indifference  of 
places.  The  truest  visions,  the  best  spectacles  I 
have  seen,  I  might  have  had  at  home.'  He  did  not 
himself  practice  his  preachment,  but  that  does 

[26] 


Professor  Maturin 

not  invalidate  it.  Kant,  however,  I  believe,  never 
travelled  more  than  forty  miles  from  Konigs- 
berg;  and  Sainte-Beuve  for  fifty  jears  seldom  left 
Paris.  What,  of  course,  one  wants  is  not  to  sub 
ject  himself  to  the  miscellaneous  and  often  dis 
tracting  impacts  of  foreign  travel,  but  to  realize 
what  essential  elements  he  needs,  where  to  find, 
and  how  to  apply  them.  As  one  of  our  poets  has 
put  it: 

Who  journeys  far  may  lack  the  seeing  eye: 

Stay,  thou,  and  know  what  wonders  round  thee  lie. 

"At  one  time  in  my  life  I  travelled  continu 
ally.  But  now  that  I  am  older  and  wiser,  I  know 
that  I  can  find  practically  everything  I  want  here 
at  home.  At  different  times  I  want  an  almost 
infinite  variety  of  things,  but  they  are  all  here 
in  New  York.  This  city  is  the  true  cosmopo- 
lis:  eighty  nations  are  represented  in  its  public 
schools;  four-fifths  of  the  parents  of  its  citizens 
came  from  the  ends  of  the  earth;  there  are  more 
than  a  million  Germans;  more  than  a  million 
Irish;  more,  and  vastly  more  fortunate  Hebrews 
than  in  all  Palestine;  and  so  on — you  know  the 
figures. 

"Now,  I  need  not  insist  that  what  is  most 
important  in  foreign  travel  is  not  the  novel  sen 
sations  to  which  it  gives  rise, — the  sense  of  a 


The  Observations  of 

different  climate,  the  flavor  of  new  dishes,  the 
fragrance  of  strange  flowers,  the  sound  of  unfa 
miliar  music,  even  the  sight  of  ancient  buildings 
or  famous  pictures — pleasurable  and  profitable 
as  all  of  these  are;  and,  fortunately,  most  of  them 
may  be  enjoyed  here,  directly  or  indirectly.  The 
fundamental  value  of  travel  is  in  the  realization 
that  it  gives  of  ways  of  feeling,  thinking,  and 
acting,  other  than  our  own;  and  these,  along  with 
many  of  their  outward  manifestations,  our  new 
Americans  bring  with  them. 

"Thus,  for  example,  if  you  are  weary  of  the 
physical  and  mental  traits  of  a  land  where  all 
things  are  yet  new,  you  may  find  the  inscruta 
ble  calm  of  the  immemorial  East  in  Chinatown, 
where  life  flows  as  it  did  before  Confucius.  The 
ceremonial  prescribed  by  Moses  is  still  carried 
out  here  in  many  synagogues,  and  I  can  intro 
duce  you  to  more  than  one  turbaned  swami  who 
will  talk  like  Buddha.  Unfortunately,  our  best 
illustration  of  the  rigid  solidity  of  the  Egyptian 
spirit  vanished  when  the  old  Tombs  prison  was 
torn  down,  but  there  is  still  the  obelisk  in  the 
Park;  and  if  you  read  Rossetti's  poem  in  the 
midst  of  the  New  York  Historical  Society's  As 
syrian  marbles,  you  will  surely  feel  yourself  in 
ancient  Nineveh. 


Professor  Maturin 

"If  material  crudities  or  social  unrest  distress 
you,  you  have  but  to  reopen  your  Aeschylus  or 
your  Cicero  to  recall  the  balanced  strength  and 
fineness  of  Greece,  the  early  law  and  order  of 
Rome.  Our  nearest  approaches  to  Greek  archi 
tecture  are  perhaps  the  porticoes  of  the  Sub-Trea 
sury  and  the  Columbia  Library,  or  the  choragic 
Soldiers  and  Sailors  Monument  on  Riverside 
Drive.  But  from  time  to  time  the  local  Greeks 
revive  their  ancient  games  and  enad  their  classic 
dramas — for  particulars,  see  their  newspaper,  At 
lantis,  if  you  read  modern  Greek.  As  for  Rome, 
High  Bridge  might  fitly  stand  on  the  Campagna, 
or  Washington  Arch  by  the  Forum;  and  for  both, 
the  Metropolitan  Museum  is  full  of  casts  of 
sculpture  and  of  adual  remains,  from  the  Etrus 
can  chariot  to  whole  walls  from  Pompeii. 

"  Would  you  reap  anew  the  fruits  of  the  Teu 
tonic  invasion,  you  need  only  observe  how  it  has 
brought  force  and  endurance,  solidity  and  crea 
ture  comfort,  family  affedion  and  social  senti 
ment,  good  humor  and  good  sense,  to  New  York, 
as  it  did  to  Rome.  The  city  would  not  be  itself, 
without  its  delicatessen  shops  or  its  Christmas 
trees;  much  less  without  German  scholarship  or 
German  music  —  Wagner  and  Beethoven  hav 
ing  become  ours  even  more  than  Berlin's. 

[  ^9] 


The  Observations  of 

"Or,  if  you  prefer  oil  to  butter, — that  is,  are 
Latin  rather  than  Teutonic  in  temper, —  you  may 
cultivate  your  mood  by  a  morning  with  the  tower 
of  Madison  Square  Garden,  which  is  a  copy  of 
the  Giralda  at  Seville,  and  an  afternoon  in  the 
new  Hispanic  Museum  in  Audubon  Park.  For 
mediaeval  Italy  you  need  but  read  your  Dante 
in  the  Church  of  the  Paulist  Fathers.  For  the  Re 
naissance,  as  for  the  Gothic,  you  may  study  the 
architecture  of  any  one  of  a  score  of  our  public 
buildings,  or  the  sculpture  and  painting  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum.  Rome  itself  has  now  no 
more  Italian  citizens  than  New  York,  and  it  hears 
far  less  Italian  music.  While  as  for  French  music, 
French  art,  French  cookery,  and  French  amenity 
—  we  have  appropriated  them  as  thoroughly  as 
we  have  the  name  Lafayette.  Our  rich  men  imi 
tate  French  chateaux;  the  rest  of  us  bless  or  re 
vile  the  French  invention  of  the  apartment  house. 

"Or,  if  you  hold  rather  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
temper:  the  English  satisfaction  in  the  serious, 
the  solid,  the  useful;  the  English  habit  of  accu 
mulation,  experiment,  and  certain  conclusion; 
and  the  English  ideals  of  physical  and  mental 
health  and  exercise  —  these  traits  and  their  tan 
gible  results  are  happily  still  so  native  to  us  that 
they  can  in  no  sense  be  considered  foreign. 

[30] 


Professor  Maturin 

"  But  even  should  your  need  or  desire  be  for 
the  mere  sensations  of  foreign  travel,  these  also 
may  be  had  in  New  York.  You  may  taste  strange 
dishes  and  hear  strange  music  in  more  foreign 
cafes  in  New  York  than  in  any  other  city  in  the 
world.  In  the  local  shop  of  the  Bosnian-Herze- 
govinian  tobacco  monopoly  you  may  smoke  a 
water-pipe,  calling  it  hookah,  chibouque,  or  nar- 
gileh,  according  to  the  place  in  which  you  would 
like  to  be.  You  may  eat  real  spaghetti  and  see 
marionettes  enad  the  story  of  Roland  on  Mac- 
dougal  Street.  You  need  go  no  farther  east  than 
the  East  Side  to  buy  Damascus  inlaid  metals, 
or  Chinese  medallion  ware,  or  Japanese  flowered 
playing-cards.  It  is  possible,  even,  to  become  an 
importer  in  a  small  way,  by  buying  for  five  dol 
lars,  on  Allen  Street,  Russian  brasses  that  cost 
seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents  when  transported  to 
Twenty-second  Street,  or  ten  dollars  and  sev 
enty-five  cents  when  they  arrive  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
You  may  hear  the  service  of  the  Greek  Catholic 
Church,  celebrated  by  an  archbishop,  in  a  cathe 
dral  on  Ninety-seventh  Street.  Bohemians,  Syr 
ians,  and  even  Egyptians  have  made  whole  sec 
tions  of  the  city  practically  their  own,  so  far  as 
manners  and  customs  are  concerned.  Nearly  one 
hundred  newspapers  and  periodicals  are  pub- 


The  Observations  of 

lished  in  New  York  in  more  than  a  score  of  for 
eign  tongues.  Perhaps  you  would  care  to  read  a 
New  York  daily  that  is  printed  in  Arabic?" 

Rising,  Professor  Maturin  drew  from  a  drawer 
and  held  before  me  a  copy  of  Kawkab  Amerika, 
a  goodly-sized  sheet,  in  strange  characters,  but 
with  a  pidured  heading  eloquent  to  all.  There 
I  saw  the  desert,  with  mosques  to  the  right,  and 
pyramids  and  Sphinx  to  the  left.  Between  were 
hosts  of  desert-dwellers,  on  foot,  on  horseback, 
on  camel,  but  all  gazing  and  pointing  to  the  cen 
tral  sky,  where  appeared  a  radiant  vision  of  our 
harbor  statue  of  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World. 

"And  it  is  no  mirage  to  them,"  said  Professor 
Maturin,  after  a  pause,  "and  that  is  the  best  of 
it  all  to  me.  The  strangeness  of  these  newcomers 
is,  indeed,  refreshing,  but  I  like  better  to  think 
of  them  as  most  of  them  really  are,  or  soon  will 
be — the  most  genuine  of  Americans.  They  are 
so  through  choice  and,  often,  hard  endeavor; 
you  and  I,  perhaps,  only  through  accident.  You 
know  the  fundamental  loyalty  of  the  typical 
German-American.  The  Spanish  press  of  the  city 
was  staunchly  American  during  our  last  war. 
The  Turkish  periodicals  applauded  our  demon 
strations  against  the  Porte;  and  Hungarians,  Ser 
vians,  Syrians,  and  Persians  have  each  formally 

1 32] 


Professor  Maturin 

organized  for  the  purpose  of  influencing  their 
fatherlands  to  become  more  like  the  land  of  their 
adoption. 

"And  so  we  come  to  the  most  valuable  of  all 
the  ends  of  travel  —  the  greater  realization  and 
appreciation  of  home.  We  return  from  other  na 
tions  with  relief — for  there  are  few  American 
emigrants — to  a  yet  new  land  of  fertile  soil  and 
mineral  wealth;  to  a  people  varied,  yet  homo 
geneous,  energetic,  aggressive,  ingenious,  and 
self-reliant.  We  face,  it  is  true,  problems  such  as 
the  world  has  never  known  before,  but  with  un 
precedented  belief  in  idealism,  morality,  order, 
and  education;  not  apprehensive  of  danger,  but 
quick  in  recognizing  and  decisive  in  meeting 
it.  Our  successes  in  transportation,  in  architec 
ture,  and  in  material  well-being  in  general;  our 
achievement  of  the  welfare  of  the  whole  people 
over  that  of  section  or  class,  of  equality  of  oppor 
tunity  for  each  and  of  benevolence  toward  all, 
have  already  taught  the  whole  world  new  lessons 
of  peace,  tolerance,  and  faith  in  the  average  man. 
Nor  do  I  see  any  reason,  as  we  become  more  and 
more  a  new  race,  blended  of  many,  why  our  good 
fortunes  should  not  continue  and  increase.  Any 
thing  else  would  falsify  our  trust  in  a  wide  and 
a  wise  humanity — and  that  is  unthinkable. 
[33  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

"But,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Professor  Ma 
turin,  as  I  rose  to  say  good-night,  "I  did  not 
mean  to  take  the  stump;  and  yet,  I  believe  that 
it  is  good  sometimes  to  give  utterance  to  these 
things  which  all  of  us  feel.  Nothing  revives  the 
vigor  of  one's  spirit  like  the  conscious  realization 
of  being  in  harmony  with  fundamental  law." 


[34] 


I 


IV 

Country  Life 

HAVE  never  seen  my  friend  Professor  Ma- 
turin  in  better  health  or  spirits  than  he  was 
when  I  met  him  the  other  evening  at  the  Athe 
naeum.  He  had  just  finished  dinner,  and  indi 
cated  that  he  was  in  the  mood  for  talk  by  ordering 
two  of  the  Cuban  vegueras  that  he  keeps  in  a  pri 
vate  box  at  the  club,  for  use  on  special  occasions. 
"  I  am  just  back  from  the  best  vacation  I  have 
ever  had,"  he  began.  "  I  have  been  spending  a 
month  with  a  friend  up  the  river,  at  a  most  de 
lightful  place,  built  and  planted  about  fifty  years 
ago  by  his  father,  from  memories  of  the  villas 
about  Florence,  where  he  once  lived.  The  house 
has  window  balconies,  a  tower,  a  loggia  opening 
west  and  south,  and  a  red-flagged  terrace  with  a 
stone  balustrade,  all  complete.  Below  this  slopes 
a  wide  lawn,  then  many  flowering  shrubs,  and 
finally  splendid  groupings  of  trees  between  and 
over  which  you  may  see  the  river,  here  at  its 
widest.  The  hills  beyond  and  the  highlands  to  the 
north  complete  the  pidure. 

"After  breakfasting  alone,  at  any  time  my 
fancy  chose,  according  to  the  happy  custom  of  the 
[35  ] 


The  Observations  of 

house,  I  spent  whole  mornings  on  the  terrace, 
looking  through  the  aisles  of  ancient  oaks  at  the 
river,  or  at  the  heaped-up  summer  clouds  as  they 
drifted  south.  I  have  heard  the  Hudson  called 
epic,  because  of  its  breadth  and  power.  It  is  no 
less  so  in  its  incidental  embellishments  of  sun 
light  and  shadow.  I  often  watched  it  from  its 
morning  silver,  through  all  shades  of  reflected 
blue,  until  at  night  it  looked  like  a  texture  of 
royal  purple  into  which  the  moonlight  and  the 
stars  were  being  woven.  The  clouds  were  better 
than  any  Alpine  mountains.  Their  mass  and  light 
and  dark  were  as  definite,  and  they  had  other 
clouds  about  their  peaks  and  oceans  of  vapor  at 
their  feet.  In  addition  they  changed  constantly, 
and  turned  to  gold  and  opal  at  evening. 

"At  luncheon,  or  shortly  before,  I  met  my  host 
and  hostess.  If  before,  we  often  strolled  through 
a  catalpa  avenue  to  a  semicircular  stone  seat 
overlooking  the  river,  or  along  a  pine  walk  to  a 
lookout  toward  the  highlands,  or  past  an  orchard 
back  of  the  house  to  a  certain  sunset  hill,  for  the 
widest  view  of  all,  where  we  could  see  the  river 
for  twenty  miles.  Sometimes  the  hostess  led^us 
to  sections  which  she  called  'nature's  gardens,' 
because  of  the  wild  flowers,  of  which  she  was 
particularly  fond. 

[36] 


Professor  Maturin 

"About  such  flowers  I  knew  so  little  that  I 
would  have  been  tempted  to  revive  my  ancient 
botany  had  I  not  a  good  while  ago  learned  the 
necessity  of  limiting  the  number  of  one's  avoca 
tions  and  of  resisting  the  temptation  to  rob  them 
of  time,  to  spend  on  this  new  thing  and  that.  I  felt 
the  same  way  about  the  trees,  which,  I  was  told, 
represented  every  indigenous  variety.  I  knew  by 
name  only  oak  and  elm,  beech  and  maple,  and 
a  few  others;  but  I  made  the  most  of  the  com 
pensations  of  my  ignorance,  by  noting,  with  all 
the  freshness  of  discovery,  the  characteristic  angle 
or  curve  of  the  different  boughs,  the  varied  form, 
texture,  and  characteristic  movement  of  branch 
and  leaf,  the  innumerable  greens  of  the  foliage, 
and  their  infinite  modulations  under  light  and 
shade. 

"I  am  sure  that  we  often  know  too  much  to 
get  the  full  value  of  our  impressions.  For  a  long 
time  painters  could  not  represent  trees  because 
they  remembered  what  each  leaf  was  like; 
Claude  painted  his  landscapes  from  what  he 
knew,  rather  than  what  he  saw,  Constable  from 
what  he  loved,  Turner  from  what  he  imagined. 
It  was  not  until  the  Barbizon  men  lived  in  the 
forest  that  Rousseau  caught  the  actual  form  and 
Corot  the  fragrance  of  nature,  and  Monet  could 
[37] 


The  Observations  of 

paint  true  light  and  air.  It  is  said  that  the  most  in 
teresting  writing  is  done  by  generally  cultivated 
people  concerning  subjects  that  are  new  to  them. 
The  greatest  enjoyment  of  nature  often  comes 
in  the  same  way.  It  is  quite  possible  to  be  4con- 
noisseured  out  of  one's  senses.' 

"At  our  luncheons  the  talk  was  always  de 
lightful,  for  my  friend's  ample  fortune  gives  him 
both  occupation  enough  to  keep  him  contem 
porary,  and  leisure  enough  to  allow  him  to  be 
Coleridge's  ideal  man  of  letters,  reaping  only 
the  choicest  and  most  spontaneous  growths  of  a 
richly  cultivated  mind.  After  luncheon  we  usu 
ally  sat  awhile  in  the  large,  although  simple, 
conservatory,  which  adjoined  the  dining-room— 
if  the  word  'simple'  may  properly  be  applied  to 
a  place  where  orange  and  lemon  trees  attained 
their  natural  size,  roses  bloomed  by  the  hun 
dred,  and  where  we  picked  ripe  pomegranates 
and  figs  for  our  dessert.  This,  too,  was  due  to  the 
genius  of  the  founder  of  the  house,  whose  works 
my  friend  delighted  to  honor  and  cherish. 

"  When  we  separated  again  I  usually  retired 
to  my  room  for  a  book  and  a  nap,  which  lasted 
I  know  not  how  long,  one  of  the  charms  of  the 
place  being  that  artificial  timepieces  were  ab 
sent,  or,  at  least,  invisible  and  inaudible,  every- 

[  38  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

thing,  apparently,  being  regulated  by  the  sun. 
This  source  of  light  and  heat  usually  led  me 
in  the  late  afternoon  to  the  loggia  to  watch  the 
earliest  anticipations  of  the  evening  glow,  and 
to  listen  to  an  orchestra  of  mocking-birds  in  an 
open-air  cage,  accompanied  by  their  wild  neigh 
bors,  of  whom  there  seemed  to  be  multitudes. 
English  sparrows  were  ruthlessly  banished,  but 
every  other  sort  of  bird  was  protected,  with  the 
reward  of  the  almost  familiar  companionship 
of  orioles,  cardinals,  wrens,  and  humming-birds, 
and  the  constant  song  of  warbler,  thrush,  and 
meadow-lark.  In  nothing,  I  think,  is  the  coun 
try  more  delightfully  different  from  the  town 
than  in  its  sounds.  Even  the  winds  and  the  rains 
sound  different  there. 

"  My  friend  has  so  long  lived  his  life  with  na 
ture  that  it  has  become  the  theme  of  his  chief 
study.  He  outlined  this  to  me  one  evening  when 
the  rain  caused  us  to  transfer  our  coffee  from  the 
terrace  to  the  conservatory,  where  his  ideas  be 
came  permanently  associated  with  the  impres 
sions  of  azalea  bloom  and  jasmine  fragrance 
which  I  acquired  at  the  same  time. 

"'I  am  slowly  accumulating,'  he  said, 'fads 
and  ideas  for  a  history  of  the  relations  between 
nature  and  man  in  the  United  States.  The  con- 
[39] 


The  Observations  of 

ditions  have  been  peculiar,  and  the  results  more 
than  ordinarily  interesting.  Nowhere  else,  for  ex 
ample,  have  people  possessing  all  the  arts  of 
civilization  made  their  homes  in  the  midst  of 
absolutely  primitive  nature.  With  such  a  begin 
ning,  three  thousand  years  of  history  have  here 
been  epitomized  in  three  hundred.  Nature  as  an 
enemy  was  soon  conquered,  and  nowhere  else 
has  she  afterward  shown  herself  more  friendly 
in  surface  fertility  and  underground  resources. 
Our  vast  and  relatively  undiversined  territory 
has  brought  men  of  the  coast,  the  mountains,  and 
the  plains;  of  the  rugged  North  and  the  languor 
ous  South,  into  closer  and  more  constant  con- 
tad  than  ever  before.  And  to  this  unparalleled 
interplay  we  have  welcomed  myriads  from  every 
other  climate  and  condition  on  the  earth,  and 
have  set  up  for  the  whole  theories  of  government 
which  allow  almost  perfect  freedom  to  all  racial, 
local,  and  individual  traits. 

" '  I  intend  to  deal  but  briefly  with  the  physi 
cal  results  of  such  inhabitation.  The  wisdom  of 
experience  is  beginning  to  check  the  perhaps  nat 
ural  tendency  to  spoil  ruthlessly  the  conquered 
forest;  and  even  the  most  materially  minded  are 
beginning  to  a<5t  toward  the  universal  mother  no 
more  harshly  than  they  would  toward  a  captive 

[403 


Professor  Maturin 

or  slave  whose  usefulness  is  increased  by  consid 
erate  treatment. 

"'The  peculiar  relations  between  nature  and 
the  human  spirit  in  the  United  States,  however, 
seem  to  me  worthy  of  extended  study.  Thus,  it  is 
undoubtedly  because  of  our  unique  environment, 
that  so  just  an  observer  as  Emerson  found  Ameri 
can  perceptions  keener  than  any  he  met  with  else 
where.  Our  poets  have  certainly  recorded  other 
and  more  varied  aspeds  of  nature  than  their  Eng 
lish  brethren,  who  in  comparison  seem  to  deal 
chiefly  with  the  "common  or  garden  variety." 
Nothing  is  more  mistaken  than  to  consider  Bry 
ant  a  kind  of  inferior  Wordsworth.  There  is  more 
truth  in  the  remark  that  Wordsworth  himself 
was  not  primarily  a  nature  poet,  since  nature  was 
to  him  chiefly  the  source  of  certain  stimuli  to  the 
mental  life,  which  was  his  fundamental  interest. 
Bryant  not  only  feels  this  stimulus,  along  with 
nature's  suggestive  and  representative  quali 
ties,  and  its  physical  benefits;  but  he  also  appre 
hends  nature  as  an  independent  world  of  phy 
sical  life  and  order,  of  which  man  is  a  citizen 
so  far  as  he  is  a  creature,  and  of  which  he  may 
be  a  ruler  so  far  as  his  mind  works  in  harmony 
with  natural  law,  and  partakes  of  the  power 
behind  it. 

[41  ] 


The  Observations  of 

" '  This  asped  of  nature  was  not,  I  believe,  ap 
prehended  by  Wordsworth  at  all.  He  at  least  gave 
no  utterance  to  it.  Similarly,  in  the  treatment  of 
the  water- world,  in  which  English  poets  have  usu 
ally  excelled,  the  English  critic  Henley  has  shown 
how  Longfellow,  through  a  simple  self-forgetful- 
ness  in  his  impressions,  found  eternal  beauties 
hitherto  unnoticed.  Emerson's  nature-teaching  is 
fairly  well  known,  but  the  depth  and  breadth  of 
Whitman's  sympathy  for  land  and  sea  has  yet 
to  be  generally  appreciated;  and  these  poets  are 
only  a  few  of  many  examples. 

"'American  painting,  too,  has  found  itself  in 
landscape ;  our  sculpture  and  music  have  drawn 
inspiration  from  aboriginal  life;  and  our  natural 
science  is  second  to  none  in  its  careful,  accurate, 
and  tireless  study. 

"'The  special  field  in  which  we  may  learn  from 
the  older  world  is  in  the  employment  of  nature 
as  the  material  of  art;  and  for  this  with  our  ad 
vance  in  wealth  and  leisure,  we  are  now  ready. 
Roman,  Italian,  and  English  examples  have  al 
ready  been  followed  in  making  real  for  us  some 
of  Poe's  visions  of  cultivated  landscape;  and  I 
am  daily  expecting  those  delightful  intellectual 
and  aesthetic  results  which  have  always  come 
when  men,  wearied  with  the  cultivation  of  cities, 

[42  j 


Professor  Maturin 

retire  to  the  contrasting  peace,  simplicity,  and 
beauty  of  nature.' 

"There  were,  of  course,"  continued  Professor 
Maturin, "  many  other  general  ideas  in  my  friend's 
system,  and  he  has  accumulated  a  vast  hoard  of 
particular  fads  to  illustrate  them.  The  last  aspect 
of  the  subject,  however,  continued  to  interest  me 
most;  for  I  was  experiencing  hourly  the  truth  of 
what  he  said  concerning  the  thaumaturgic,  heal 
ing  power  of  nature.  I  never  felt  such  gentle  and 
cumulative  refreshment  in  my  life.  The  varied 
sensations  of  travel,  which  is  perhaps  the  favorite 
form  of  recreation,  merely  whip  the  jaded  spirit 
into  new  activity.  But  these  peaceful,  natural 
scenes  and  sounds  allow  the  senses  to  relax,  and 
the  mind  to  renew  its  texture  and  recover  its  tone. 
As  Browning  puts  it, 

my  soul 
Smoothed  itself  out,  a  long-cramped  scroll. 

I  have  experienced  a  real  re-creation." 

"Therefore,"  concluded  Professor  Maturin,  as 
we  finished  our  cigars,  "you  must  not  be  surprised 
if,  within  the  next  few  weeks,  I  compose  a  pas 
toral  symphony,  or  become  a  new  Theocritus, 
or  —  what  is  less  unlikely — retire  to  a  villa,  as 
Horace  did." 

[43] 


Food  for  Thought 

I  WAS  just  ordering  dinner  at  the  Athenaeum 
when  Professor  Maturin  entered  the  room  and 
peered  about  over  his  spedacles  in  search  of  a 
congenial  corner.  Happily  for  me,  his  glance 
encountered  mine,  and  his  smile  accepted  my 
-invitation.  I  settled  myself  for  an  hour  of  rare 
conversation. 

"  And  what  are  you  planning  to  have  ?  "  he 
queried.  I  passed  him  the  order  I  was  signing,  but 
noticed,  as  he  read  it,  first  surprise,  then  incre 
dulity,  and  finally  sorrow  in  his  expression. 

"  My  friend,  my  friend,"  he  said,  mournfully 
shaking  his  head,  "and  you  a  literary  man!" 

"Won't  you,  then,  order  for  me  instead?"  I 
responded,  cancelling  the  slip,  outwardly  meek, 
but  inwardly  rejoicing  that  my  friend's  energy 
had  created  a  situation  which  his  kindliness 
would  require  him  to  explain  at  length. 

"In  the  cause  of  the  advancement  of  learning, 
sir,  I  will!"  he  replied.  And  taking  a  new  blank, 
he  began  to  write  from  the  bottom  upward,  re 
marking.-''^^  first  place,  I  always  feel,  in  order 
that  a  dinner  may  have  unity  and  consistency, 
[44] 


Professor  Maturin 

it  should  be  planned  like  a  poem,  from  the  end 
toward  the  beginning;  all  the  more,  since  there 
is  no  chance  for  revision.  There,"  he  resumed, 
finishing,  "  I  think  that  will  do,  as  simple,  nour 
ishing,  and  suggestive." 

And  he  read :  "Oysters,  with  a  few  Platonic 
olives,  for  the  sake  of  Dr.  Holmes  and  criticism; 
a  bit  of  tenderloin,  in  memory  of  Mary  Lamb's 
beefsteak  pudding;  asparagus,  which,  according 
to  Charles  Lamb,  inspires  gentle  thoughts;  cauli 
flower,  which  Dr.  Johnson  preferred  to  all  other 
flowers;  Vergil's  salad;  apple  pie,  according  to 
Henry  Ward  Beecher's  recipe,  with  a  bit  of  Dean 
Swift's  cheese;  and,  finally,  a  little  coffee.  I  have 
considerably  increased  my  usual  ration  in  order 
that  you  may  not  miss  what  the  French  call  'the 
sensation  of  satiety.7 

"I  find  it  difficult,"  sighed  Professor  Maturin, 
as  he  passed  the  order  to  an  attendant  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  "to  absolve  men  of  letters  from 
what  has  been  called  the  crime  of  unintelligent 
eating.  Of  all  men  their  need  of  and  their  oppor 
tunity  for  wisdom  in  such  matters  is  the  greatest. 
And  yet  you  have  Gray  wondering  at  his  ail 
ments  and  his  melancholia,  when  he  was  eating 
chiefly  marmalade  and  pastry,  taking  no  exercise, 
and  dosing  himself  with  tar  water  and  sage  tea. 
[45  ] 


The  Observations  of 

"  Shelley  did  scarcely  better  in  a  more  enlight 
ened  age.  Byron's  habitual  flesh-reducing  mix 
ture,  potatoes  and  vinegar,  is  chemically  indiges 
tible.  And  Thoreau  literally  consumed  himself 
in  following  and  advocating  a  diet  which  so  pre 
pared  him  for  tuberculosis  that  living  half  his 
time  in  the  open  air  could  not  prevent  it. 

"The  opposite  extreme,  which  is  yet  more 
common,  is  even  less  attractive  in  men  of  genius. 
Who  likes  to  remember  that  Spenser  and  Milton 
had  gout,  or  that  Goethe  drank  in  his  time  fifty 
thousand  bottles  of  wine?  As  for  Pepys,  what 
do  you  think  of  having  one's  'only  mayde'  dress 
such  a  home  dinner  as  this,  copied  from  his 
'Diary:'  'A  fricassee  of  rabbits  and  chickens,  a 
leg  of  mutton,  three  carps,  a  side  of  lamb,  a  dish 
of  roasted  pigeons,  four  lobsters,  three  tarts,  a 
lamprey  pie,  a  dish  of  anchovies,  and  good  wine 
of  several  sorts '  ?  No  wonder  that  his  better  quali 
ties  are  obscured  in  our  memories  of  him. 

"Philosophers,  men  of  action,  and,  interest 
ingly  enough,  men  of  the  world,  have  usually  set 
a  better  example. 'They  that  sup  with  Plato,' 
said  Aelianus,  'are  not  sick  or  out  of  temper 
the  next  day.'  Socrates,  Epicurus,  and  Kant,  all 
preached  and  practiced  judgment  and  restraint. 
Horace  and  Catullus  insisted  that  their  pam- 

[46] 


Professor  Maturin 

pered  guests  should  bring  their  luxuries  with 
them.  Montaigne  highly  disapproved  of  elabo 
rate  cooking,  and  Pope  refused  to  dine  with  Lady 
Suffolk  so  late  in  the  day  as  four. 

"Then  there  is  that  admirable  story  of  Cin- 
cinnatus,  whom  the  venal  senators  knew  they 
could  not  bribe  after  they  found  him  preparing 
his  own  dinner  of  turnips.  It  is  quite  in  keeping 
that  King  Alfred  should  have  burned  the  cakes, 
and  that  Napoleon  should  have  spilled  the  ome 
let;  and  it  is  to  Lady  Cromwell's  credit  that  she 
would  not  allow  the  Protedor  oranges  that  cost 
a  groat  apiece. 

"  Even  aside  from  health  and  morals,  a  man's 
relation  to  food  is  always  significant.  Who  can 
think  of  Tasso  without  remembering  that  he 
loved  sweetmeats'?  Is  there  not  literary  sugges 
tion  in  the  fad  that  Vergil  loved  garlic  and 
Horace  hated  it;  that  Horace  preferred  his  Fa- 
lernian  and  his  Sabine  farm  to  the  dinners  and 
Persian  apparatus  of  Maecenas,  but  that  Cicero 
loved  to  dine  with  Lucullus  and  bought  himself 
a  seven-thousand-dollar  dinner  tablet 

"Is  it  not  illuminating  to  know  that  the  fa 
vorite  food  of  Burns  was  oat-cake,  that  of  Byron 
truffles'?  De  Ouincey's  reports  that  Wordsworth 
used  the  same  knife  for  cutting  butter  and  the 
[47  ] 


The  Observations  of 

pages  of  books;  and  that  Scott,  when  Words 
worth's  guest,  repaired  secretly  to  an  inn  for 
chops  and  ale — these  are  not  gossip,  but  literary 
criticism.  It  is  as  surely  interpretative  of  Dickens 
to  know  that  he  disliked  Italian  cookery  as  that 
he  was  fond  of  playing  an  accordeon. 

"Carlyle's  pessimism  is  usually  attributed  to 
indigestion.  It  ought,  I  think,  to  be  as  usual  to 
explain  Emerson's  optimism  by  a  digestion  that 
could  cope  successfully  with  his  favorite  pie.  We 
habitually  associate  tea  and  coffee  with  Johnson 
and  Balzac,  and  their  work.  Should  we  not  as 
often  remember  that  Milton  produced  'Paradise 
Lost'  on  coffee,  and  'Paradise  Regained'  on  tea? 
Of  course,  such  physical  criticism  of  literature 
must  be  limited  by  other  judgments.  I  can  well 
agree  with  Dr.  Gould  that  many  writers  show 
the  effects  of  eye-strain,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
upset  the  diagnosis  of  anaemia  in  Hawthorne; 
but  I  hesitate  to  think,  with  Dr.  Conan  Doyle, 
that  Shakespeare  had  locomotor  ataxia." 

"Why  did  you  associate  oysters  with  criti 
cism?"!  inquired,  as  Professor  Maturin  paused. 

"  Do  you  not  recall,"  he  replied,  "  the  Auto 
crat's  remark  that  literary  reputations  are  largely 
a  matter  of  administering  oysters  in  the  form  of 
suppers,  to  gentlemen  connected  with  criticism? 

[48] 


Professor  Maturin 

Veuillot  similarly  claimed  that  men  were  elected 
to  the  French  Academy  chiefly  because  they 
gave  good  dinners.  Sydney  Smith  applied  the 
principle  to  religion  when  he  said,  'The  way  to 
deal  with  fanatics  is  not  to  reason  with  them,  but 
to  ask  them  to  dinner.'  On  the  other  hand,  Swift 
used  deliberately  to  test  men's  tempers  by  offer 
ing  them  bad  wine." 

"And  did  Plato  like  olives?"  I  continued. 

"He  often  made  a  meal  of  nothing  else,"  was 
the  reply. 

"And  what  was  Vergil's  salad?"  It  arrived  at 
that  moment. 

"  It  is  made  of  cheese  and  parsley,  with  a  bit 
of  garlic,  rue,  and  coriander,  salt,  oil,  and  vinegar. 
A  little  of  it  is,  I  think,  very  pleasing.  I  much 
prefer  it  to  Sydney  Smith's.  I  never  understood 
how  he  could  write  4  Fate  cannot  harm  me,  I  have 
dined  to-day'  about  a  salad  made  of  potatoes.  For 
the  truly  esoteric  doctrine  you  must  read  John 
Evelyn's  '  Discourse  of  Sallets.' 

"  Indeed,  I  am  inclined,  on  the  whole,  to  think 
that  Sydney  Smith  was  what  Carlyle  called  'a 
blethering  blellum,'  when  he  wrote  about  food, 
as  he  so  often  did.  It  was  perfectly  proper  for  him 
to  express  a  desire  to  experience  American  can- 
vasbacks,  and  to  be  glad  that  he  was  not  born 
[49  ] 


The  Observations  of 

before  tea;  but  to  say  that  roast  pheasant  and 
bread  sauce  was  the  source  of  the  most  elevated 
pleasure  in  life,  and  that  his  idea  of  heaven  was 
eating  fate  defois  gras  to  the  sound  of  trumpets 
— that  was  both  posing  and  trifling  with  serious 
subjects.  Charles  Lamb's  comments  on  roast  pig 
and  frogs'  legs,  and  his  kindred  table  talk,  are 
much  more  genuine,  and,  of  course,  charming; 
but  even  they  scarcely  touch  the  deeper  aspects 
of  the  subject. 

"Thackeray  had  all  of  Lamb's  appreciation 
of  food  and,  I  think,  something  more.  He  en 
joyed  his  own  and  accepted  others'  idiosyncrasies 
of  taste,  —  witness  his  treating  boys  to  apricot 
omelet,  which  he  hated, — but  his  plea  for  sim 
pler  and  more  varied  dinners,  for  more  hospital 
ity  and  less  ostentation,  indicates,  I  think,  that 
he  realized  at  least  something  of  the  profound 
moral  and  social  significance  of  food. 

"This,  as  you  know,  is  one  of  my  hobbies,  and 
I  unconsciously  add  it  to  my  other  criteria  of 
judgment  in  my  reading.  That  Scott  invented  a 
venison  pasty,  Dickens  a  sandwich,  Webster  a 
clam  chowder,  and  Henry  Clay  a  stew  is  inter 
esting;  just  as  it  is  that  Buckle  was  discriminate 
and  Heine  indiscriminate  in  choosing  tea.  But 
it  is  far  more  significant  that  Dr.  Johnson  con- 

[50] 


Professor  Maturin 

sidered  writing  a  cook-book,  and  that  Dumas' 
last  work  actually  was  such  a  volume  of  more 
than  a  thousand  pages. 

"That  is  the  kind  of  thing  we  need:  sound 
dodrine  from  influential  writers,  but  it  is  not  easy 
to  get.  The  intemperate  use  of  food,  which  is  al 
ways  with  us,  causes  many  to  turn  with  prejudice 
from  the  whole  subject.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  con 
servatism  often  opposes  the  good.  You  know, 
for  example,  how  long  the  clergy  decried  the  use 
of  forks;  and  I  never  cease  to  regret  that  the  man 
who  was  opened-minded  enough  to  introduce 
umbrellas  into  England  should  have  been  furi 
ously  opposed  to  tea. 

"  Many  writers,  too,  treat  the  subject  fancifully, 
without  regard  to  its  inherent  truths — witness 
the  conventional  praise  of  the  indigestible  turtle. 
Often  those  who  intend  well  lack  knowledge: 
Pythagoras  made  it  a  principle  of  morality  to  ab 
stain  from  beans, an  almost  perfect  food;  the  ideal 
diet  of  Plato's  republic,barley  pudding  and  bread, 
does  not  contain  the  elements  necessary  to  sus 
tain  life  properly.  Democritus  inaugurated  the 
still  repeated  heresy  that  any  food  that  is  pleas 
ant  is  wholesome ;  and  even  Dr.  Johnson  defended 
his  doubtful  practice  of  eating  whenever  he  was 
hungry,  without  regard  to  regularity.  For  all  these 

[51 1 


The  Observations  of 

reasons  and  many  others  I  hold  it,  in  this  enlight 
ened  age,  doubly  the  responsibility  of  intelligent 
men,  and  particularly  of  those  who  influence 
popular  opinion,  to  acquire  a  sound  knowledge 
of  such  matters  and  to  do  all  that  they  can  to 
disseminate  it." 

"You  have  previously  convinced  me  of  this," 
I  replied,  "but  I  have  not  found  it  easy  to  attain 
to  such  knowledge." 

"The  important  thing,"  continued  my  men 
tor,  "is  a  conscious  attitude  of  serious  attention 
to  contemporary  investigations  in  the  field.  One 
should  welcome  every  item  of  reliable  infor 
mation,  observe  much,  and,  whenever  possible, 
experiment.  Of  course,  our  special  problem,  as 
persons  of  sedentary  habit,  is  to  obtain  a  large 
quantity  of  blood  and  brain  nutriment  without 
taxing  an  organism  which  gets  comparatively 
little  physical  exercise.  The  problem  is  not  sim 
ple,  indeed  it  is  very  complex,  but  it  can  be  so 
completely  handled  by  knowledge  and  care  that 
the  process  of  solving  it  adds  another  satisfaction 
to  life. 

"Cheerfulness,  by  the  way,  is  an  invaluable 
agent  in  the  whole  business.  I  know  of  a  physi 
cian  who  cured  a  persistent  dyspeptic  by  requir 
ing  him  to  tell  at  least  one  amusing  story  at  each 
[5*  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

meal.  We  are  apt  to  forget  that  the  taking  of 
food  is  not  only  a  necessity,  but  also  one  of  our 
most  constant  sources  of  pleasure. 

Unless  some  sweetness  at  the  bottom  He, 
Who  cares  for  all  the  crinkling  of  the  pie  ? 

Sometimes,  even,  as  Voltaire  says,  'the  superflu 
ous  is  a  very  necessary  thing.' 

"  That  high  thinking  does  not  require  that  all 
our  living  be  plain,  is  admirably  illustrated  by 
this  quotation  from  Mr.  Howells's  reminiscence 
of  the  'very  plain'  suppers  which  followed  the 
meetings  of  Longfellow's  memorable  Dante  Club. 
They  consisted  of  'a  cold  turkey,  or  a  haunch 
of  venison,  or  some  braces  of  grouse,  or  a  plate 
of  quails,  with  a  deep  bowl  of  salad,  and  the  sym 
pathetic  companionship  of  those  eled:  vintages 
which  Longfellow  loved  and  chose  with  the  in 
spiration  of  affection.' 

"  From  such  pabulum  came  our  most  poetic 
version  of  the  world's  most  spiritual  poet." 


[53  ] 


VI 

Beside  the  Sea 

HEAR  ING  that  Professor  Maturin  was  back 
again  in  town,  I  made  an  early  call,  and 
found  him  hale  and  hearty,  bleached  and  bronzed, 
and  even  more  than  usually  clear-eyed. 

"Behold  me  returned  from  a  summer  beside 
the  sea,"  he  said  in  greeting.  "  I  see  that  you  note 
the  visible  indications  of  my  sea-change.  When 
ever  you  are  in  the  mood  for  a  tide  of  talk,  I 
believe  I  can  convince  you  that  my  experience 
was  as  rich  as  its  outward  signs  are  strange."  I  re 
minded  him  that  there  was  never  any  time  like 
the  present,  and  added  such  further  solicitation 
that  he  began  at  once. 

"You  know  the  locality  of  my  preference:  a 
place  frequented  just  enough  not  to  be  lonely, 
a  region  of  bays  and  sounds  as  well  as  of  open 
sea;  where  the  waves  batter  at  the  cliffs  only  to  re 
turn  their  spoil  to  the  sands — where,  in  short,  the 
unity  of  the  element  appears  in  endless  variety. 
My  favorite  station  was  a  dune-guarded  beach  of 
sand,  which  swept  on  either  hand  into  pebbles 
and  stones,  until  lost  in  the  rocks  heaped  below 
the  boulder  cliffs  that  formed  the  horns  of  a  cres 
cent  cove. 

[54] 


Professor  Maturin 

"At  first  I  spent  unmeasured  hours  looking 
over  the  expanse  toward  the  terminal  haze,  and 
watching,  as  far  out  as  I  could,  the  great  ridges 
rolling  with  the  motion  of  wind  and  tide  and 
open  sea.  At  the  farthest,  they  looked  like  moun 
tain  ranges,  one  behind  the  other;  nearer,  they 
were  dark  green  hills  with  grayish  summits. 
Nearer  yet,  one  could  see  them  reflect  the  sky, 
and  sometimes  the  shore.  Nearest  of  all,  there 
was  a  visible  upgathering  before  the  rush,  plunge, 
and  sweep  on  the  beach  —  all  endlessly  repeated 
and  infinitely  varied. 

"The  same  perpetual  repetition  and  variety 
appeared  in  the  surge,  as  it  flooded  up  the  sands 
in  a  wide  curve  of  plash,  ripple,  and  foam ;  paused, 
retreated  slowly,  and  then  swept  out,  only  to  join 
with  the  drag  of  the  bottom  in  opposing  an  in 
coming  wave,  until  it  rose  high,  plunged  forward, 
and  broke  into  the  churning  shallows,  which  were 
quickly  covered  by  the  main  body  of  the  wave 
as  it  flooded  in. 

"The  outermost  margin  of  almost  every  surge 
lingered  long  enough  to  make  its  record  in  a 
tiny  ridge  of  sand  and  to  reflect  the  light  and 
color  of  the  sky;  then  it  sank  into  the  sand,  leav 
ing  a  burden  of  pebbles  and  shells,  stubble  and 
seaweed,  and  the  like.  This  flotsam  and  jetsam  is 
[55  ] 


The  Observations  of 

so  constantly  swept  up,  drawn  back,  and  tossed 
to  and  fro  that  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  the 
sands,  under  a  microscope,  composed  entirely 
of  such  materials  worn  to  powder.  Behind  me, 
the  sea  and  the  wind  had  heaped  the  sand  into 
hills,  that  shore  grasses  burrowed  into  and  held 
together.  To  left  and  right,  the  cliffs,  although 
high  and  precipitous,  were  so  scarred  and  worn 
by  storm  and  wave  that  they  looked  almost  pri 
meval.  Their  tops  were  bared  by  the  winds  and 
corroded  by  the  alternate  action  of  heat  and 
moisture;  their  granite  sides  were  seamed  and 
stained  by  the  surge;  and  their  feet  were  en 
cumbered  with  fragments  of  their  own  wreckage 
that  must  have  thundered  down  like  avalanches. 
These  rocks,  whether  flung  forward  in  reefs  like 
sculptured  waves,  or  heaped  like  ruins,  were  nat 
urally  of  a  rich  old  rose,  but  they  were  often  also 
gray  with  barnacles,  or  green  with  sea  growths, 
and  they  showed  even  deeper  in  tone  when  sub 
merged  beneath  the  many  pools  that  similarly 
mellowed  and  enriched  the  coloring  of  pebbles, 
shells,  and  weeds. 

"  My  observation  of  the  almost  infinitely  va 
ried  flora  and  fauna  of  the  sea  was,  naturally,  but 
superficial.  Yet  I  saw  many  delightful  plant  and 
flower-like  forms  of  dark  or  light  green,  yellow, 
[56] 


Professor  Maturin 

brown,  and  red,  all  ceaselessly  retinted  by  the 
ever-changing  sky  lights,  and  the  reflection  and 
refradion  of  the  water.  Sometimes  they  rioted  in 
thick  tangles  among  the  rocks;  again  they  softly 
swayed,  outspread  toward  the  rising  and  falling 
surface. 

"The  fauna  I  preferred  to  look  at  under  water, 
for,  on  the  whole,  I  found  them  grotesque,  al 
though  I  was  bound  to  admire  their  adjustment 
to  their  environment,  and  to  resped  them  as 
possible  images  of  our  remote  ancestors.  I  was 
especially  impressed  with  the  constant  warfare 
beneath  the  surface,  as  exemplified  in  the  regular 
manoeuvring  of  whole  armies  of  tiny  fish,  only  to 
have  company  after  company  routed  by  the  dash 
and  gulp  of  some  larger  enemy. 

"The  bottom  of  the  sea  I  have  never  seen,  save 
through  the  glass-bottomed  boats  of  the  Bermu 
das,  but  some  day  I  hope  for  a  diver's  view  of  the 
depths.  It  is  easy  to  understand  why  the  imagina 
tion  of  the  poets  should  be  stimulated  by  the  idea 
of  that  cool,  dim  quietness,  disturbed  only  by  the 
swaying  of  verdure  and  the  movement  of  great 
fish;  of  the  richness  of  color,  and  the  long,  slow 
passage  of  time,  measured  only  by  the  up-build 
ing  of  the  coral. 

"The  open  sea  is,  of  course,  familiar  to  us  all, 
[57] 


The  Observations  of 

and  yet  its  apparent  boundlessness  and  immeas 
urable  depth  are  ever  new  as  the  most  immense 
thing  in  our  knowledge — the  sky  belonging 
rather  to  the  realm  of  the  intangible.  Mid-ocean 
always  makes  me  feel  the  infinite  continuity  of 
time,  the  omnipresence  of  natural  law,  and  a  stim 
ulus  to  greater  harmony  with  its  workings.  No 
where  else  are  my  '  cosmic  emotions'  so  stirred. 
One  gets  something  of  the  same  impression  on 
land  wherever  one  can  mark  the  ceaseless  rising, 
pausing,  and  falling  of  the  tide,  under  the  myste 
rious  governance  of  the  moon.  I  am  more  than 
fond  of  the  regular,  gentle  quality  of  the  tide's 
behavior,  even  if  it  does  sometimes  seem  stealthy 
in  its  creeping  toward  and  around  the  half-oblivi 
ous  observer. 

"  I  cannot  similarly  commend  the  behavior  of 
the  wind,  when  it  opposes  the  tide  in  bluster  on 
the  sea  or  pushes  it  in  tumult  on  the  shore.  The 
tide  is  a  serene  and  responsible  world  power;  the 
wind  almost  always  performs  its  indispensable 
functions  with  all  the  eccentricity  of  genius.  A 
breeze  is  positively  attractive  when  ruffling  the 
surface  or  sweeping  spray  from  the  wave-crests, 
and  the  wind  itself  is  unobjectionable  when  it 
consistently  urges  the  waves  in  one  direction.  But 
when  it  plays  havoc  with  the  clouds,  or  '  ruffians 

[58] 


Professor  Maturin 

on  the  enchafed  flood '  until  it  fastens  upon  the 
elu&ant  sea  a  behavior  as  bad  and  a  reputation 
worse  than  its  own  —  then  I  am  by  no  means 
for  it. 

"It  was  my  fortune  this  summer  to  witness  sev 
eral  storms  of  such  intensity  that  I  became  im 
pressed  with  the  routine  of  their  procedure.  The 
sea  —  grown  dark,  heavy,  and  oily —  is  first  flicked 
and  spotted,  and  then  strangely  lighted,  all  over, 
with  the  dash  of  rain  and  hail;  the  sun  is  made 
lurid,  then  shrouded,  and  then  hidden  by  a  me 
tallic  sky;  the  clouds  grow  gloomy  and  sullen 
until  they  are  shattered  by  peals  of  thunder  and 
riven  by  livid  lightnings.  Then  the  wind  rushes, 
howls,  and  roars;  tearing  and  hurtling  the  clouds 
and  tumbling  and  lashing  the  waves  until  they 
leap  and  plunge,  reel  and  writhe,  flinging  up 
hissing  foam  and  whirling  spray  'shrewd  with 
salt.'  It  is  undoubtedly  glorious — but  I  like 
it  best  when  it  is  over,  leaving  the  torn  waves 
heavy  with  foam  as  a  reminder,  by  contrast,  of 
the  quieter  beauties  of  a  calmer  sea. 

"Even  the  sky,  the  most  beautiful  thing  that 
we  know,  seems  to  multiply  its  beauty  by  the  sea. 
One  day  I  saw  night  gradually  lapsing  into  dawn. 
The  sea  glimmered  as  though  the  stars  had  come 
down,  and  then  flashed  until,  in  the  language 
[  59  ] 


The  Observations  of 

of  Swinburne,  it  blossomed  rosily  and  flowered 
in  the  sun,  floating  all  fiery  upon  the  burning 
water.  I  saw  many  long  mornings  of  sapphire 
sky  and  lapis-lazuli  sea,  and  many  noons  when 
the  waves  glittered  until  their  spray  became  dia 
monds.  Through  long  afternoons  the  sea  refleded 
sky  and  clouds  in  every  shade  of  silver,  blue,  and 
green.  The  amber  fire  of  the  setting  sun  not  only 
made  the  heavens  splendid,  but  poured  both  di 
rect  and  refleded  rays  upon  the  sea  until  nothing 
but  the  idea  of  a  stupendous  opal  could  suggest 
its  coloring.  Later,  all  would  fade  until  land  was 
lost,  the  sea  grew  deep  and  dark,  and  the  only 
light  was  the  foam  and  the  reflections  of  the  stars. 
With  the  moon,  all  grew  new  again.  Rising  low 
and  large,  it  threw  a  broad,  undulating  pathway 
as  golden  as  that  of  the  sun  was  silver.  Where 
it  reached  the  shore  its  glitter  extended  along  the 
surf,  gleaming  over  the  sands,  and  twinkling 
wherever  spray  or  dew  had  fallen.  Later  yet,  as 
the  moon  quietly  sank,  the  general  illumination 
grew  dim,  until  obscurity  covered  land  and  sea 
alike,  and  the  sea  seemed  to  merge  into  infinite 
space. 

"  Then,  as  at  no  other  time,  one  hears  the  sound 
of  the  sea.  I  spent  many  hours  listening,  endeav 
oring  to  analyze  it,  and  to  interpret  its  effed. 
[60] 


Professor  Maturin 

Its  continuity  and  variety  are  perhaps  its  most 
striking  characteristics.  It  is  so  ceaseless  that  it 
suggests  the  everlasting.  Within  this  perpetuity 
it  rises  and  sinks,  leaps  and  falls,  gathers  and  dis 
solves;  it  sweeps  and  rolls,  sways  and  trembles; 
it  seems  to  approach  and  withdraw,  to  flow  and 
overflow;  it  sounds  and  resounds,  repeats  and 
changes.  And  well  it  may  do  all  this  and  more, 
considering  that  its  source  is  a  countless  num 
ber  and  variety  of  waves,  surging,  breaking,  and 
seething  among  themselves;  rushing,  plashing, 
lapping  on  the  shore,  chafing  sand,  rattling  peb 
bles,  grating  shells,  grinding  rocks:  —  all  of  the 
resulting  sound  being  constantly  varied  as  well  as 
augmented  by  breeze,  wind,  and  storm;  by  the 
configuration  and  reverberating  qualities  of  the 
shore;  and  by  the  varying  acoustic  properties  of 
the  atmosphere. 

"Analysis  being  thus  nearly  baffled,  I  turned 
to  analogy,  and  found  the  sound  like  the  rumble 
of  thunder,  the  crash  of  falling  rocks,  the  rush  of 
cataracls;  like  the  quiver  of  green  branches  and 
the  rustle  of  dry  leaves;  like  the  bellow  and  roar 
of  animals;  the  clash  of  arms  and  armor.  It  is  very 
much  like  music  in  its  elements  of  monotone, 
chord,  cadence,  melody,  and  harmony;  its  rela 
tions  of  continuity,  rhythm,  repetition,  and  vari- 
[61  ] 


The  Observations  of 

ation;  in  its  sounds  as  of  cymbal,  tympani,  bell, 
trumpet,  viol,  harp,  or  organ;  its  suggestions  of 
symphony  or  chorale.  It  is,  perhaps,  most  of  all 
like  the  human  voice,  half  audible  in  whisper  or 
murmur;  inarticulate  in  sigh  or  sob;  muffled  in 
mutter  or  moan;  hushed  in  lullaby  or  croon; 
blended  in  a  unison  of  song  or  supplication;  con 
fused  in  the  hum  and  rumor,  the  call  and  shout, 
the  clamor  or  tumult  of  great  crowds. 

"From  such  prosing  of  my  own  I  turned  to 
the  record  and  interpretation  of  sea  music  by  the 
poets.  From  them  I  collected  an  alphabetical  list 
of  characterizations,  and  by  the  time  that  I  had 
accumulated  about  one  hundred  I  fell  so  into 
their  spirit  that  I,  myself,  produced  the  follow 
ing —  as  yet  unnamed — poetic  fragment: 

Always  attune dy  its  anthem  billowing,  breaking  is  blown  ; 
Ceaseless,  its  cadenced  complaining  deepens  to  dirge  or  to  drone; 
Ever  its  eloquent  echo  falling,  again  flies  free, 
Till  it  gathers  and  grows  in  grandeur  like  heaven 's  high  har 
mony. 

"I  stopped  there,  because  'kissing'  was  the 
next  striking  epithet  and  that  seemed  rather  too 
fanciful,  although  the  Swinburnian  spirit  aroused 
by  the  composition  yearned,  so  to  speak,  to  go 
on  to  'mightily  murmured  the  main'  and  'sono 
rously  sounded  the  sibilant  sea.' 

[62] 


Professor  Maturin 

"Seriously,however,  the  problem  of  adequately 
recording  and  interpreting  the  aspeds  of  the 
sea  is  as  fascinating  as  it  is  difficult.  The  best 
media  are,  of  course,  sculpture  for  its  form  and 
substance,  painting  for  its  light  and  color,  music 
for  its  movement  and  sound.  Poetry  and  prose 
refled  something  of  all  of  these,  poetry  more  sug 
gestively,  prose  more  accurately.  The  poets, 
however,  turn  so  quickly  from  adual  aspeds  and 
impressions  to  their  mental  and  emotional  ac 
companiments,  that  they  seem  devoted  rather  to 
exploiting  their  own  poetic  gifts  than  the  rich 
ness  of  their  subjed.  Their  observation  is  usually 
sensitive  and  keen,  but  it  is  quickly  checked  and 
often  distorted  by  the  adion  of  fancy.  Accuracy 
of  expression  is  frequently  disturbed  by  sponta 
neous  or  deliberate  search  for  the  piduresque  or 
figurative  utterance,  made  so  easy  by  the  enor 
mous  vocabulary  that  the  sea  has  impressed  upon 
our  language.  Poets  who  are  gifted  with  rhyth 
mical  or  harmonic  power  habitually  exceed  in 
those  diredions  also.  Happily  there  are  some  sea 
poems  that  are  true  as  well  as  beautiful,  but  it 
seems  quite  too  bad  that  such  masters  as  Shelley, 
Arnold,  and  Emerson  should  intelledualize,  and 
Coleridge,  Rossetti,  and  Poe  should  dream,  about 
the  sea  until  they  make  it  appear  merely  a  min- 


Professor  Maturin 

ister  to  their  moods  rather  than  the  immense, 
unspoiled,  cosmic  thing  it  really  is." 

"Man  overboard?"  said  Professor  Maturin 
suddenly,  as  he  halted  abruptly  before  me  in  the 
perambulation  he  had  begun  after  rising  to  secure 
the  manuscript  of  his  poetic  fragment,  and  had 
slowly  continued  ever  since  back  and  forth  along 
the  long  rug  that  he  calls  his  "beat"  —  "I  have 
flowed  in  good  earnest.  Your  submerged  appear 
ance  indicates  that  you  agree  with  me  that  my 
experience  was  well-nigh  overwhelming." 

Accepting  his  helping  hand,  I  pulled  myself 
out  of  the  depths  of  the  huge  leather  chair  into 
which  I  had  sunk,  and  expressed  my  genuine 
appreciation  by  saying,  along  with  my  good- 
nights,  "The  next  time  we  meet,  I  should  like 
just  such  another  dip." 


[64] 


VII 

Christmas 

IT  is  always  possible  to  divine  something  of 
the  state  of  Professor  Maturin's  mind  from 
the  order  or  the  congestion  of  his  books  and  pa 
pers.  When,  therefore,  the  other  day,  I  found  him 
behind  a  perfect  rampart  of  volumes  bristling 
with  paper-markers,  I  knew  that  he  was  loading 
with  some  new  knowledge  or  other,  and  medi 
tated  how  I  might  draw  his  fire.  But  he  antici 
pated  my  efforts  by  sallying  from  his  fortifica 
tion,  dishevelled  but  beaming,  with  the  salvo: 

God  rest  you,  merry  gentleman,- 
Let  nothing  you  dismay  !  — 

What  will  you  give  for  the  Christmas  spirit?" 
he  continued.  "I  have  been  seeking  it,  seasona 
bly,  and  believe  that  I  have  found  it." 

I  capitulated  immediately,  and  we  sat  down  by 
the  fire  for  a  parley,  which  he  began  promptly. 

"The  Christmas  spirit  appears  to  be  inherent 
in  human  nature,  in  the  climatic  change  from 
summer  seed-time,  through  autumn  harvest,  to 
hearty  winter  relaxation  and  cheer  over  the  gar 
nered  fruits  of  husbandry  or  art.  In  the  South  it  be 
gan  as  the  winter  feast  of  Saturn,  celebrated  with 

[65  ] 


The  Observations  of 

masking  and  gifts.  In  the  North  it  was  Odin's, 
with  log  fires  and  feasting.  Then  the  early  Chris 
tian  fathers  chose  it  for  celebrating  their  Foun 
der's  new  teaching  of  peace  and  good-will. 

"  Gradually  all  of  this  blended  into  the  most 
interesting  mingling  of  the  material  and  the 
spiritual  that  we  have  in  all  our  manners  and 
customs.  The  traditions  of  the  shepherds  and  the 
star,  the  nativity,  and  the  wise  men  of  the  East 
became  the  centre  of  the  celebration.  But  the  me 
diaeval  popularity  of  Macrobius's  book  on  the 
Saturnalia  perpetuated  its  carnival  and  games, 
its  candles  and  garlands,  and  its  giving  of  gifts, 
especially  to  children.  The  descending  Teutons 
brought  their  wassail  and  their  tree  ceremonials. 
Germany  added  Saint  Nicholas,  Santa  Claus,and 
the  filling  of  stockings.  France  seems  to  have 
furnished  the  carols.  England  elaborated  the  sea 
son's  food  and  drink,  and  America  contributed 
the  turkey. 

"With  the  growth  of  church  and  state  the  day 
became  one  of  pomp  and  circumstance.  West 
minster  Abbey  was  consecrated  on  Christmas  in 
1065,  and  William  was  crowned  there  the  next 
Christmas.  Other  episcopal  and  royal  functions 
followed,  until  more  was  spent  on  this  season 
than  in  all  the  year  beside.  There  were  special 
[66] 


Professor  Maturin 

buildings,  elaborate  pageants  elaborately  set,  and 
feasts  of  five  hundred  dishes  with  sixty  oxen  for 
one  course  and  eight-hundred-pound  plum  pud 
dings.  There  were  jousts  at  which  three  hun 
dred  spears  were  broken,  and  the  presentation 
of  as  many  as  thirty  plays.  Earlier,  the  plays 
were  religious;  later,  Shakespeare  provided  the 
court  play  for  Christmas,  1601,  and  Ben  Jonson 
for  1616.  Milton's  'Comus'  was  presented  at 
Ludlow  Castle  during  the  Christmas  season  of 
1634. 

"The  universities  and  the  inns  of  court  were 
likewise  keen  for  plays  and  for  'the  boar's  head 
served  with  minstrelsy.'  The  aristocracy  and  gen 
try  kept  open  house,  for  sometimes  as  many  as 
three  hundred  persons.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
sent  a  string  of  puddings  and  a  pack  of  cards  to 
every  poor  family  in  the  parish;  and  rich  dece 
dents  left  Christmas  dinners  and  gifts  to  the  poor. 
The  peasantry  entered  heartily  into  seasonable 
mummery  and  games,  dances  and  songs,  so  in 
dustriously  thumbing  the  many  early  printed 
books  of  carols  that  almost  none  of  them  re 
main. 

"Everywhere  indoor  leisure  and  the  season 
able  mood  gave  rise  to  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  legendary  lore  —  of  spirits,  of  trees  that  flower 

[  67 1 


The  Observations  of 

and  animals  that  speak  on  Christmas  eve,  and 
of  weather  wisdom,  like  : 

If  Christ  masse  day  on  fry  day  be, 
The  frost  of  wynter  harde  shal  be. 

"  From  the  beginning,  the  spirit  of  the  cele 
bration  had  to  wage  war  with  the  flesh.  The  fa 
thers  of  the  church  never  ceased  to  remonstrate 
that  festivity  endangered  the  solemnity  of  the 
season.  There  were  constant  failures  to  remem 
ber  the  peaceful  character  of  the  feast.  The  Danes 
fell  on  King  Alfred  while  he  was  celebrating 
Christmas  in  878,  and  William  the  Conqueror 
got  into  York  on  Christmas  in  1069  by  sending 
in  spies  with  good-will  gifts  of  food.  The  me 
diaeval  Lords  of  Misrule,  originally  established 
to  control  festivity,  became  themselves  uncon 
trolled,  and  had  to  be  abolished." 

"Even  though  they  made  some  very  good 
laws,"  I  interrupted,  "against  eating  two  din 
ners  in  one  day,  and  kissing  without  leave." 

"The  Pilgrim  fathers  at  Plymouth  frowned  on 
current  excesses  by  working  on  Christmas  day 
in  1620  and  by  later  prohibiting  its  celebration. 
Cromwell's  Parliament  sat  every  Christmas  day 
from  1644  to  1656,  and  sermonized  and  legislated 
against  the  celebration  as  a  carnal  feast,  order 
ing  churches  shut,  shops  open,  and  decorations 
[68] 


Professor  Maturin 

down.  But  this  was  too  extreme,  and  the  people 
smashed  the  shop  windows  and  put  up  more 
evergreens  than  the  Lord  Mayor's  men  could 
burn;  and  Evelyn  delighted  in  being  arrested  for 
going  to  church  on  Christmas  in  1657.  ^n  nve 
years  all  was  so  changed  that  Pepys  could  for 
once  combine  preaching  and  practice,  by  hearing 
a  Christmas  sermon  on  joyousness  and  having 
plum  pudding  and  mince  pie  for  dinner. 

"  From  the  beginning,  too,  the  spirit  of  bene 
volence  has  had  its  difficulties.  Watchmen  left 
verses  at  doors,  wanderers  sang  carols,  and  chil 
dren  chanted,  '  I  've  got  a  little  pocket  to  put  a 
penny  in,'  until  such  suggestion  to  benevolence 
became  a  little  too  definite,  and  it  was  legislated 
against.  In  1668  Pepys  says  tipping  'cost  me 
much  money  this  Christmas  already,  and  will 
do  more.'  Half  a  century  later  Swift  writes: 4  By 
the  Lord  Harry,  I  shall  be  done  with  Christ 
mas  boxes.  The  rogues  at  the  coffee  house  have 
raised  their  tax,  every  one  giving  a  crown,  and  I 
gave  mine  for  shame;  besides  a  great  many  half- 
crowns,  to  great  men's  porters,  etc.' 

"  Of  other  giving  Swift  writes : '  Making  agree 
able  presents  .  .  .  [is]  an  affair  as  delicate  as  most 
in  the  course  of  life,'  and  he  never  fails  to  cau 
tion  Stella  against  a  new  danger,  that  of  losing 


The  Observations  of 

her  money  in  Christmas  gaming.  Concerning  this 
custom  Walpole  wrote  on  twelfth-day  in  1752: 
'His  Majesty,  according  to  annual  custom,  of 
fered  myrrh,  frankincense,  and  a  small  bit  of 
gold;  and,  at  night,  in  commemoration  of  the 
three  kings  or  wise  men,  the  King  and  royal 
family  played  at  hazard  ...  his  most  sacred 
Majesty  won  three  guineas,  and  his  R.  H.  the 
duke,  three  thousand  four  hundred  pounds.' 

"Concerning  gifts,  Walpole  instances  the 
charming  presents  devised  for  a  little  girl  of  ten 
by  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk  and  Lord  Chetwynd, 
aged  seventy-six  and  eighty,  respectively;  and 
he  prescribes  the  theory,  '  Pray  remember  not  to 
ruin  yourself  in  presents.  A  very  slight  gift  of  a 
guinea  or  two  obliges  as  much,  is  more  fashion 
able,  and  not  a  moment  sooner  forgotten  than 
a  magnificent  one;  and  then  you  may  cheaply 
oblige  the  more  persons/" 

"Such  being  the  earlier  history  and  tradition  of 
the  festival,  what  should  be  its  modern  spirit?" 
I  inquired. 

"For  that,  too,"  continued  Professor  Maturin, 
"there  is  no  lack  of  leading.  Charles  Lamb  is 
frankly  for  'the  good  old  munching  system  .  .  . 
ingens  gloria  apple-pasty-orum'  and  does  not  hesi 
tate  to  prescribe  for  Christmas,  1800,  'snipes  ex- 

1 70  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

adly  at  nine,  punch  at  ten,  with  argument;  dif 
ference  of  opinion  expeded  about  eleven,  perfed 
unanimity,  with  some  haziness  and  dimness,  be 
fore  twelve.' 

"Thomas  Love  Peacock  makes  his  Rev.  Dr. 
Opimian  say,  about  1860:  'I  think  much  of 
Christmas  and  all  its  associations.  I  like  the  idea 
of  the  yule-log.  I  like  the  festoons  of  holly  on  the 
walls  and  windows;  the  dance  under  the  mistle 
toe  ;  the  gigantic  sausage ;  the  baron  of  beef;  the 
vast  globe  of  plum  pudding;  the  tapping  of  the 
old  Odober;  the  inexhaustible  bowl  of  punch. 
...  I  like  the  idea  of  what  has  gone,  and  I  can 
still  enjoy  the  reality  of  what  remains/ 

"Dr.  Opimian  further  prescribes  for  the  sea 
son  such  merry  tales  as  his  contemporary  'In- 
goldsby  Legends'  provide  in  the  distinguished 
career,  but  inglorious  end,  of  'The  Speclre  of 
Tappington,'  which  nightly  made  away  with  the 
trousers  of  the  guest  who  occupied  the  haunted 
room  at  Christmas.  All  of  these  same  hearty 
traditions  are  perpetuated  by  Fenimore  Cooper 
in  his  description  of  Christmas  festivity  in  4The 
Pioneers.'" 

"  Does  not  Washington  Irving,"  I  asked, "  have 
an  important  place  in  the  tradition?" 

"  Precisely  so,"  continued  Professor  Maturin; 

[71 1 


The  Observations  of 

"it  was  reserved  for  him,  from  his  knowledge  of 
Dutch  and  English  customs,  to  make  a  new  se 
lection  and  recombination  of  Christmas  ideals  so 
appealing  as  to  have  set  the  standard  ever  since. 
His  half-dozen  Christmas  papers  dwell,  with  his 
characteristic  love  of  the  past,  on  the  superior 
honesty,  kindliness,  and  joy  of  the  old  holiday 
customs.  No  refinement  of  elegance  can  replace, 
he  maintains,  the  family  gatherings,  the  perfect 
ing  of  sympathies,  the  realization  of  mutual  de 
pendence,  and  the  increase  of  mutual  affection, 
instinct  in  the  ancient  hospitality.  To  his  own 
question  as  to  the  worth  of  Christmas  observ 
ances,  he  gives  the  most  characteristic  answer  in 
his  philosophy — there  is  plenty  of  wisdom  in 
the  world,  but  we  need  more  sound  pleasure  to 
beguile  care  and  increase  benevolence  and  good 
humor. 

"It  was  this  ethical  intention  to  reestablish 
the  old  tradition  of  kindliness  that  Dickens  fol 
lowed,  with  the  result  of  again  endearing  the 
season,  as  Mr.  Howells  has  said,  'to  the  whole 
English-speaking  world,  with  a  wider  and  deeper 
hold  than  it  had  ever  had  before  .  .  .  the  chief 
agency  in  universalizing  the  great  Christmas 
holiday  as  we  now  have  it.' 

"There  is  no  need  to  remind  any  one  how 


Professor  Maturin 

the  whole  baker's  dozen  of  Dickens's  'Christmas 
Stones'  delightfully  champion  hard  work  and 
good  cheer,  sympathy  and  benevolence,  affec 
tion  and  self-sacrifice,  and  even  the  softening 
effects  of  suffering  and  sorrow — sometimes  by 
diredly  illustrating  these  blessings,  again  by  pic 
turing  the  misery  of  their  opposites.  His  satires 
at  pretended  benevolence  and  commercial  greed, 
and  his  championship  of  the  common  man,  an 
swer  in  advance  all  later  criticisms  concerning 
the  burden  and  the  cost  of  Christmas  and  cur 
rent  complaints  over  popular  ingratitude. 

"'I  have  great  faith  in  the  poor,'  Dickens 
once  wrote.  'To  the  best  of  my  ability  I  always 
endeavour  to  present  them  in  a  favourable  light 
to  the  rich;  and  I  shall  never  cease,  I  hope,  until 
I  die,  to  advocate  their  being  made  as  happy  and 
as  wise  as  the  circumstances  of  their  condition, 
in  its  utmost  improvement,  will  admit/ 

"Thackeray  called  Dickens's  'Christmas  Sto 
ries'  a  national  benefit,  and  to  any  man  or  wo 
man  who  reads  them  a  personal  kindness;  and 
Thackeray,  too,  served  the  season  with  Christ 
mas  pieces  of  sympathy,  humor,  and  pantomime, 
and  with  his  famous  onslaught  on  pretentious 
misanthropy.  You  recall  how  the  ^imes  slated 
one  of  his  Christmas  stories  as  worthless  on  the 
[  73  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

very  day  that  the  publishers  asked  for  a  sec 
ond  edition;  and  how  Thackeray,  in  the  preface 
to  the  second  edition, — 'An  Essay  on  Thunder 
and  Small  Beer,' — made  such  delightful  fun 
of  the  review's  futility,  its  absurd  supercilious 
ness,  its  inflated  language,  and  its  false  figures 
of  speech,  that  snarling  criticism  learned  at  least 
a  temporary  lesson. 

"Thackeray  waged  his  war  differently  from 
Dickens,  but,  on  the  whole,  I  have  found  no 
thing  more  compactly  adequate  on  the  Christ 
mas  spirit  than  Thackeray's 

/  wish  you  healthy  and  love,  and  mirth. 
As  fts  the  solemn  Christmas-tide, 

unless  it  be  the  conclusion  to  old  Nicholas  Bre 
ton's  'Fantasticks,'  written  in  1626:  'In  brief  I 
thus  conclude  it :  I  hold  it  a  memory  of  Heav 
en's  love  and  the  world's  peace,  the  mirth  of  the 
honest  and  the  meeting  of  the  friendly.  Fare 
well/" 


[74] 


VIII 
The  Sovran  Herb 

"A/'OU  are  come  most  opportunely,"  said 
JL  Professor  Maturin,  as  I  was  shown  into  his 
study.  "Just  in  time  for  coffee  and  a  cigar  and 
some  good  talk  with  my  friend  the  Vicar  of  All 
Souls."  And  he  presented  me  to  a  gentleman 
whose  clerical  dress  graced  a  more  than  ordinarily 
handsome  figure.  His  chair  and  Professor  Ma- 
turin's  being  on  opposite  sides  of  the  fireplace, 
I  drew  mine  between  them,  and  noted,  during 
the  pouring  of  the  coffee,  the  fine  seriousness 
and  serenity  of  the  clergyman's  face.  He  made  no 
remark,  however,  until  he  said,  "None,  I  thank 
you,"  slightly  raising  his  hand  when  I  proffered 
the  cigars  that  Professor  Maturin  had  passed.  But, 
after  I  had  made  my  selection  and  had  returned 
the  box  to  Professor  Maturin,  the  Vicar  recon 
sidered  and  joined  us. 

44  Smoking  rests  me  greatly  when  I  am  tired," 

he  continued,  after  we  had  lighted,  "but  I  am 

thinking  of  giving  it  up.  I  am  moved  to  do  so  by 

such  statements  as  this  from  my  afternoon  paper  " 

—  and  extracting  a  clipping  from  his  pocket 

and  adjusting  his  eye-glasses,  he  read:  "Medical 

[  75  ] 


The  Observations  of 

opinion  and  statistics  unite  to  prove  that  smok 
ing  irritates  the  respiratory  system,  decreases  lung 
capacity,  prevents  the  purification  of  the  blood, 
depresses  the  nerve  centres,  checks  heart  adion, 
impairs  digestion,  retards  growth,  reduces  weight, 
strength,  and  endurance;  restricts  the  therapeutic 
effecls  of  medicines,  delays  the  healing  of  wounds, 
and  impairs,  if  it  does  not  destroy,  mental  life- 
all  of  which  effects,  inevitable  although  perhaps 
hidden  for  years,  would  make  tobacco  one  of  the 
gravest  dangers  of  the  century  even  if  it  did  not 
harm  the  eyes,  excite  thirst,  and  induce  intem 
perance." 

"  If  we  believed  that,"  said  Professor  Maturin, 
getting  out  of  his  chair, "  we  should  not  only  aban 
don  tobacco  instantly,  but  organize  a  crusade  for 
its  total  prohibition.  But  my  medical  friends  in 
form  me  that  the  statistics  are  still  quite  too  scanty 
to  generalize  from,  and  that  there  have  been  no 
scientific  experiments,  except  a  few  which  have 
apparently  proved  that  smoking  aids  digestion. 

"As  for  personal  opinion,  it  has  long  been 
equally  violent  on  both  sides  of  the  question. 
Here,"  he  continued,  opening  a  volume  of 
pamphlets  which  he  had  drawn  from  one  of  his 
bookcases,  "is  a  three-century-old  illustration," 
and  he  read:  "There  cannot  be  a  more  base,  and 

[  76] 


Professor  Maturin 

yet  hurtful  corruption  in  a  country  than  this  bar 
barous  and  beastly  habit  borrowed  from  wild 
Indians,  a  habit  unnatural,  urgent,  expensive,  un 
clean — loathsome  to  the  eye,  hateful  to  the  nose, 
harmful  to  the  brain,  dangerous  to  the  lungs  — 
and  in  the  black,  stinking  fume  thereof  nearest 
resembling  the  horrible  Stygian  smoke  of  the  pit 
that  is  bottomless." 

"That,"  resumed  Professor  Maturin,  "is  the 
personal  opinion  of  James  the  First  of  England 
in  the  'Counterblaste  to  Tobacco,'  which  he  fol 
lowed  up  by  imposing  a  duty  of  six  shillings 
eightpence  a  pound  in  addition  to  the  modest 
tuppence  previously  demanded. 

"  But  here  also  is  a  counterblast  to  King  James's, 
by  one  of  the  most  learned  physicians  of  his  time, 
William  Barclay.  He  proclaims  tobacco  to  be  a 
heavenly  panacea  of  wondrous  curative  power, 
the  fuel  of  life  divinely  sent  to  a  cold,  phleg 
matic  land.  He  characterizes  all  other  opinions  as 
'raving  lies,  forged  by  scurvy,  lewd,  unlearned 
leeches.'"  As  Professor  Maturin  put  the  book  up 
and  returned  to  his  chair  he  concluded:  "I  can 
not  feel  that  personal  opinion  on  the  subject  to 
day  has  any  sounder  basis." 

"Possibly  not,"  replied  the  Vicar,  after  a  short 
pause,  —  "possibly  not.  But  can  we  not  conclude 
[77] 


The  Observations  of 

something  from  the  standing  of  the  witnesses? 
Is  there  not  some  significance  in  the  cordial  af 
filiation  between  the  weed  and  alcohol?  How 
shall  we  answer  Horace  Greeley's  offer  to  give 
two  white  blackbirds  for  one  blackguard  who 
did  not  use  tobacco?" 

"  The  collocation  of  Bacchus  and  tobacco  is, 
of  course,  historic,"  responded  Professor  Matu- 
rin,  "but,  on  the  other  hand,  as  a  substitute  for 
alcohol,  tobacco  is  certainly  on  the  side  of  tem 
perance.  If,  moreover,  it  is  to  be  judged  by  the 
company  it  has  kept,  we  must  reckon  with  the 
practical  advocacy  of  many  good  men  and  true 
from  Milton  to  Emerson,  as  well  as  of  all  the 
smoking  roysterers  from  Ben  Jonson  to  Burns." 

"  I  must  admit  that  I  can  recall  only  Sir  Isaac 
Newton  and  Horace  Walpole,  Dr.  Holmes  and 
Mr.  Swinburne,  in  specific  opposition,"  said  the 
Vicar,  "although  I  venture  to  think  that  the 
Greeks  would  have  opposed  it." 

"And  the  Romans  have  approved  it,"  rejoined 
Professor  Maturin.  "  There  is  an  immense  mass 
of  literature  on  both  sides.  I  agree  neither  with 
King  James  nor  with  his  counterblasters.  But  I 
do  believe  with  Cowper  that  smoking  quickens 
thought,  with  Lowell  that  it  mellows  conversa 
tion,  with  Dr.  Johnson  that  it  induces  tranquil- 

[78] 


Professor  Maturin 

lity,  and  with  Moliere  that  it  prompts  benevo 
lence." 

"But  Dr.  Holmes  held  that  it  muddled 
thought,"  retorted  the  Vicar,  "and  it  certainly 
silenced  two  eloquent  talkers  on  that  occasion 
when  Carlyle  and  Emerson  smoked  together 
a  whole  evening  with  never  a  word.  I  fear  that 
only  too  often  it  relaxes  divine  discontent  into 
ill-timed  resignation,  turns  thought  to  reverie, 
and  lulls  the  stir  of  adion  into  dreams." 

"That,  surely,  is  the  defed  of  its  quality,"  ad 
mitted  Professor  Maturin;  "yet  it  did  not  cloud 
Kant's  thought,  dim  Milton's  poetic  vision,  or 
relax  the  will  of  Frederick  the  Great  or  of  Bis 
marck.  It  may,  perhaps,  have  somewhat  clouded 
Lowell,  dimmed  Thackeray,  and  relaxed  Lamb. 
But  who  can  tell?  We  cannot  determine  the  ideal 
combination  of  the  strenuous  and  the  contem 
plative  life  until  we  solve  the  personal  equation." 

"Very  true,  very  true,"  acknowledged  the 
Vicar ;  "therefore,  let  us  begin  again.  Is  not  smok 
ing  an  essentially  selfish,  or  at  least  an  anti-social, 
habit?" 

"It  does,  I  believe,"  responded  Professor  Ma 
turin,  "incline  one  to  prefer  the  company  of  other 
smokers,  and  to  reduce  the  number  even  of  those 
that  one  desires  at  a  time.  However,  if  that  be 
[  79] 


The  Observations  of 

the  case,  we  must  commend  it  for  inciting  such 
conversation  as  the  present,  such  intimate  games 
as  chess,  and  such  profitable  solitude  as  that  with 
books.  It  was  no  accidental  combination  that 
made  Buckle  say  he  never  regretted  the  money 
spent  for  books  or  tobacco.  King  Alfred  and  his 
ancient  candle  are  succeeded  by  the  modern 
scholar,  measuring  time  by  the  rings  on  the  ash 
of  his  cigar,  or  by  the  succession  of  his  pipes.  Is 
not  tobacco,  therefore,  an  encourager  of  domes 
ticity^  What  makes  one  more  content  to  stay  at 
home?" 

"  Or  away  from  home  *?  "  smiled  the  clergyman, 
consulting  his  watch.  "As  for  domesticity,  you 
know  the  saying  that  'tobacco  is  woman's  only 
successful  rival;'  and  you  recall  those  shocking 
lines  of  Kipling's.  I  think  I  never  knew  a  woman 
who  was  not,  secretly,  at  least,  distressed  by  the 
odor  of  tobacco  —  no  matter  what  the  younger 
ones  may  say  to  the  contrary.  Remember  poor 
Mrs.  Carlyle!" 

"There  were  two  Mrs.  Carlyles,"  chuckled 
Professor  Maturin,  "and  you  must  restrid  your 
sympathies  to  Jane,  for  the  dowager  and  son 
Thomas  used  to  smoke  their  pipes  together.  Of 
the  feminine  readion  to  tobacco,  however,  I  am 
no  judge,  although  I  do  recall  George  Sand's 
[80  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

pipe,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu's  snuff,  and 
the  cigarettes  of  contemporary  empresses  and 
suffragettes.  Have  I  not  heard  that  women  phy 
sicians  prescribe  the  latter  —  cigarettes,  I  mean 
—for  feminine  nervousness?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  whatever  about  cigarettes," 
replied  the  Vicar.  "  I  would  unhesitatingly  ban 
ish  them  as  the  bane  of  the  young  and  the  fool 
ish.  Snuff,  also,  we  are  done  with,  and  happily, 
for  it  was  the  most  slovenly  form  of  an  indulgence 
which  is  unclean  at  its  best."  Here  the  Vicar 
flicked  some  imaginary  ashes  from  his  waistcoat. 
"We  can  never  be  too  grateful  that  our  contem 
porary  Sir  Joshua  Reynoldses  are  not  snuffy.  But 
I  must  confess  that  a  good  Havana  now  and 
then"-  —and  the  Vicar  spoke  slower  and  slower, 
until  his  sentence  became  an  eloquent  silence  as 
he  drew  upon  his  cigar,  expelled  the  smoke,  and 
watched  it  fade  away. 

No  one  spoke  for  some  moments, and  as  neither 
the  Vicar  nor  Professor  Maturin  seemed  inclined 
to  do  so,  I  ventured  a  brief  panegyric  upon  pipes, 
preferably  briars  —  their  intimate,  companiona 
ble,  cumulative  qualities;  the  preference  for  them 
on  the  part  of  Spenser  and  Tennyson,  Locke 
and  Fielding,  Lamb  and  Lowell;  and  the  varied 
range  of  their  offering  as  illustrated  by  Cowper's 
[81  ] 


The  Observations  of 

Virginia,  Thackeray's  Canaster,  and  Aldrich's 
Latakia. 

"  Nor  may  we  forget  Southey's  '  Elegy  on  a 
Quid/"  added  Professor  Maturin.  "Seriously, 
however,"  he  continued,  "smoke  is  beautiful  to 
the  eye,  pleasing  in  flavor  and  odor,  smooth  to 
the  tadile  and  comforting  to  the  temperature 
sense,  the  occasion  of  a  tranquil  muscular  rhythm 
—the  last  not  the  least  important.  Thus  it  grati 
fies  six  senses  at  once — no  wonder  its  use  has 
become  universal,  intimately  incorporated  into 
national  life  east  and  west,  south  and  north." 

"Alas,  too  intimately,"  sighed  the  Vicar.  "It 
costs  half  a  billion  a  year.  It  is  another  artifi 
cial  habit  that  the  world  finds  it  difficult  if  not 
impossible  to  do  without.  So  few  have  Newton's 
fear  of  adding  to  the  number  of  their  necessities. 
Think  how  Thackeray  missed  his  cigar  and  how 
Prescott,  when  but  one  a  day  was  allowed  to 
him,  ranged  Paris  over  for  the  very  largest  pro 
curable!  Did  not  Stevenson  write,  'Most  men 
eat  occasionally,  but  what  they  really  live  on  is 
tobacco'?  Did  not  Charles  Lamb  say  he  toiled 
after  tobacco  as  other  men  toiled  after  virtue? 
Was  not  his  struggle  to  stop  smoking  as  severe 
as  De  Quincey's  with  opium?" 

"I  susped,"  replied  Professor  Maturin,  "that 

[82] 


Professor  Maturin 

both  Lamb  and  De  Quincey  made  the  literary 
most  of  their  sufferings,  and  as  for  force  of  habit, 
whocan  tell  ?  I  am  sure  that  I  never  smoke  merely 
from  habit,  but  always  because  of  a  conscious 
desire  for  the  kind  of  satisfaction  that  smoking 
gives." 

"Yes,  yes,"  sighed  the  Vicar,  finishing  his  ci 
gar,  "but  I  am  truly  distressed  about  the  matter. 
I  wish  that  your  scientists  would  make  a  com 
prehensive  and  conclusive  investigation  into  the 
effects  of  tobacco,  as  they  have  recently  done  into 
those  of  alcohol.  Is  it  a  stimulant  or  a  sedative4? 
What  is  its  effect  on  perception,  comprehension, 
association,  combination,  on  general  efficiency, 
on  general  health?  Is  it  a  poison  or  a  panacea?" 

"It  is  certainly  time  that  we  knew  surely,"  re 
plied  Professor  Maturin  gravely,  "and  it  is  our 
obligation  to  urge  our  scientific  friends  to  inform 
us.  Until  then,  however,  I  must  confess  that  my 
own  experience  chiefly  corroborates  Carlyle's 
judgment  that  'sedative,  gently  clarifying  to 
bacco  smoke,  with  the  obligation  to  a  minimum 
of  speech,  surely  gives  human  intellect  and  in 
sight  the  best  chance  they  can  have.'  The  gen 
eral  situation  is  well  summed  up  by  old  Burton, 
when  he  says:  'Tobacco,  divine,  rare,  superex- 
cellent  tobacco,  which  goes  far  beyond  all  the 


Professor  Maturin 

panaceas,  potable  gold,  and  philosopher's  stones, 
.  .  .  but  as  it  is  commonly  abused  by  most  men, 
which  take  it  as  tinkers  do  ale,  't  is  a  plague,  a 
mischief,  a  violent  purger  of  goods,  lands,  health, 
hellish,  devilish  and  damned  tobacco.'  Have  an 
other  cigar,  dominie." 

"Until  we  really  know  about  tobacco,"  con 
cluded  the  Vicar,  firmly  closing  the  box,  "we,  at 
least,  will  practice  moderation." 


[84] 


IX 

Mens  Faces 

in,  come  in,"  said  Professor  Ma- 
turin,  as  I  was  shown  to  the  door  of  his 
study.  "I  am  very  well,  indeed,  thank  you  — 
'pursuing  the  even  terror  of  my  way,'  as  the 
proofreader  said.  I  have  just  been  trying,"  he 
continued,  taking  some  papers  from  his  writing- 
table,  "to  triangulate  Shakespeare's  nose  accord 
ing  to  Sir  Francis  Galton's  plan  for  classifying 
profiles.  But  it  appears  that  the  shape  of  Shake 
speare's  nose  is  as  uncertain  as  the  spelling  of  his 
name.  Here  in  the  Ely  House  portrait  it  is  long 
and  rounded,  in  the  Droeshout  it  is  rather  flat 
tened,  in  the  Zoust  quite  irregular,  in  the  Trinity 
Church  monument  a  very  vile  nose  indeed.  You 
may  observe,  moreover,  among  these  plates,  a 
similar  disagreement  concerning  every  one  of  his 
features,  although  the  general  expression  is  like 
enough.  All  of  which  was  renewing  in  my  mind, 
as  you  came  in,  certain  observations  concerning 
men's  faces. 

"  If  you  were  to  go  over  with  me  my  collec 
tion  of  literary  portraits  he  re, —  I  have  about  two 
thousand,  —  you  would  note  immense  differences 
[85  ] 


The  Observations  of 

in  line  and  mass,  light  and  shade,  depth  and  del 
icacy.  The  prints  are  from  all  sorts  and  condi 
tions  of  statues,  paintings,  engravings,  and  pho 
tographs;  taken  at  all  sorts  of  angles  from  profile 
to  full  face,  and  at  various  elevations.  The  actual 
color  and  texture  of  the  originals,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  artists'  ideas  of  them,  would  make  the  vari 
ation  much  greater.  And  yet  I  believe  you  will 
agree  that,  in  spite  of  all  detractions,  almost  every 
plate  gives  a  surprisingly  expressive  and  indi 
vidual  characterization." 

Professor  Maturin  waited  in  silence  while  I 
looked  over  enough  of  the  portraits  to  convince 
myself  of  the  justice  of  his  observation.  Then 
he  continued:  "While  possessed  of  that  idea  I 
amused  myself  by  picking  out  doubles.  Here  are 
some  surprising  similarities  in  the  faces  of  most  dis 
similar  persons — Tolstoy  and  Verlaine,  Bishop 
Heber  and  Byron,  Ronsard  and  Lincoln.  All  of 
these  portraits  of  Spenser  make  him  look  like 
Mephistopheles,  and  Seneca  here  is  the  exact 
counterpart  of  our  friend  the  sporting  editor.  In 
general,  however,  a  resemblance  in  appearance 
—like  that,  for  example,  between  Shakespeare 
and  Calderon — represents  a  considerable  corre 
spondence  in  nature.  Sometimes  this  may  be  at 
tributed  to  identity  of  race  and  nationality,  as  in 
[  86] 


Professor  Maturin 

the  cases  of  Renan  and  Sainte-Beuve,  Taine  and 
Zola.  But  most  often  the  resemblance  shows  true 
to  temperament  and  character  in  spite  of  race, 
time,  and  circumstance.  Notice,  for  example, 
these  prints  of  Horace  and  Herrick,  Burger  and 
Burns,  Heine  and  Chopin,  Maurice  Jokai  and 
George  W.  Cable.  Such  resemblances  hold  even 
between  very  unusual  faces,  such  as  those  of  Uh- 
land  and  Goldsmith,  and  there  are  sometimes 
triplets  like  Fouque,  Hoffmann,  and  Poe.  It  ap 
pears,  decidedly,  that  appearances  are  not  decep 
tive. 

"Personality  cannot,  of  course,  entirely  tran 
scend  all  rules :  Dumas  pere  shows  unequivocally 
his  negroid  blood;  you  can  generalize  concern 
ing  the  bent  Russian  head,  the  arched  Spanish 
brows,  the  full  German  nose,  the  common  irregu 
larity  of  English  features.  Accident  broke  Thack 
eray's  nose,  cost  Camoens  an  eye,  and  at  least 
threatened  De  Foe's  ears.  Distress  left  its  mark 
on  Cervantes  and  on  Poe.  Lamb  said,  you  remem 
ber,  that  Coleridge  looked  like  an  archangel,  a 
little  damaged.  Pope  and  De  Quincey  show  their 
imperfect  health.  The  posture  and  the  pose  of 
occupation  leave  traces,  like  the  knitted  brows 
of  philosophers  and  men  of  aclion,  the  narrowed 
eyes  of  historians  and  explorers,  the  open  nostril 


The  Observations  of 

of  the  naturalist,  the  worn  mouth  of  the  orator. 
But  these  are  minor  matters — the  general  ex 
pression  remains. 

"The  character  of  this  general  expression  is 
perhaps  most  determined  by  the  size  and  shape 
of  the  head.  These  vary  enormously — as  one 
may  see  in  the  Hutton  collection  of  masks  at 
Princeton — all  the  way  from  the  greatness  of 
Thackeray's  to  the  smallness  of  Byron's,  from  the 
shortness  and  breadth  of  Luther's  to  the  narrow 
ness  and  length  of  Lope  de  Vega's,  from  Dar 
win's  deep  sloping  dome  to  Scott's  'Peveril  of 
the  Peak.' 

"A  single  feature  frequently  dominates,  like 
Sir  Philip  Sidney's  'imperial  head  with  fair,  large 
front,'  or  Jean  Paul  Richter's  strangely  bulging 
forehead.  The  eye  is  often  the  most  striking  fea 
ture.  Scott  said,  literally,  that  the  eyes  of  Burns 
glowed;  the  same  thing  was  said  about  Keats  and 
Hawthorne.  Scientists  are  notable  for  eager  eyes, 
mystics  for  dreamy  ones.  I  have  noticed  that  styl 
ists,  like  Flaubert,  Catulle  Mendes,  d'Annunzio, 
John  La  Farge,  and  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  are 
heavy-lidded.  Large  noses  connote  power,  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  Hebrews,  the  Greeks,  and 
the  Romans;  from  Dante  and  Savonarola,  Words 
worth  and  Newman.  We  have  the  testimony  of 
[88] 


Professor  Maturin 

Lowell  that  Emerson's  nose  was  so  large  that  it 
cast  a  shadow.  Socrates  and  Plato,  Herbert  Spen 
cer  and  Dr.  Holmes,  however,  were  but  illy  fa 
vored  in  this  respect.  Satirists'  noses  are  long,  and, 
as  we  might  exped,  often  pointed,  —  witness 
Erasmus,  Swift,  and  Voltaire. 

"Mouths  are  only  less  expressive  than  eyes. 
Sterne's  mouth  shows  him  a  satyr,  De  Quincey's 
marks  him  an  imp.  In  general  the  mouths  of  au 
thors,  and  of  clergymen,  too  often  show  self-im 
portance  or  complacency.  Julius  Caesar's  square 
jaw  and  Bismarck's  thick  neck  are  also  full  of 
meaning,  although  such  features  and  the  always 
significant  poise  of  the  head  are  often  obscured 
by  the  countless  forms  of  ruff,  band,  stock,  or  col 
lar  that  men  have  affeded  from  time  to  time. 

"The  hair  and  beard  are  even  greater  trans 
formers.  Personally,  I  like  somewhat  wayward 
hair  such  as  Scott's,  Hazlitt's,  and  Tennyson's.  All 
red-haired  writers  from  Ben  Jonson  to  Bulwer- 
Lytton  attrad  me,  while  I  am  repelled  by  By 
ron's  glossy  and  Shelley's  silky  hair.  Many  heads 
are  improved  by  the  thinning  of  their  thatch,  al 
though  Emerson's  was  not;  some,  like  Irving's, 
are  enhanced  by  a  wig.  But  in  general  wigs  are 
great  levellers, — imagine  Dr.  Johnson  in  Addi- 
son's!  Alexander  Hamilton's  queue  makes  a  fine 


The  Observations  of 

balance  for  his  profile,  and  a  tonsure  is  not  al 
ways  unbecoming.  One  may  say  the  same  for 
beards:  Fitzgerald  always  objected  to  Tennyson's, 
but  Bryant  and  Longfellow  and  Ruskin  were  all 
bettered  by  theirs,  the  last  immensely  so.  Free 
man,  however,  rather  overdid  it,  and  Flaubert's 
walrus  moustache  was  a  monstrous  thing  in  such 
a  stylist.  Baudelaire's  beard  and  Swinburne's  are 
to  me  much  more  shocking  than  anything  in 
their  verses.  But  the  dodrine  of  beards  is  really 
very  subtle.  Mr.  Henry  James's  removal  of  his 
apparently  readed  upon  his  style. 

"After  conspicuous  single  features,  arrange 
ment  most  influences  expression,  and  it  is  sur 
prising  to  note  how  irregular  this  is.  Such  corre 
lation  and  symmetry  as  that  of  George  Meredith 
is  quite  exceptional.  There  are  disagreements  in 
color  even  between  eyes — one  of  Lamb's  was 
hazel,  the  other  gray.  The  eyes  and  brows  of 
Chatterton,  Balzac,  and  Douglas  Jerrold  are  on 
a  different  plane,  back  of  the  rest  of  their  fea 
tures.  The  right  side  of  Thoreau's  face  and  of 
Whitman's  is  lower  than  the  other,  while  the 
left  side  of  Poe's  face  is  smaller.  Disproportion 
in  mass  is  most  frequent,  the  lower  half  of  the 
face  being  often  too  large  for  the  remainder. 
Alexander  von  Humboldt  and  Matthew  Arnold 

[90] 


Professor  Maturin 

are  the  only  examples  I  have  noted  of  dispro- 
portionally  large  brows  and  eyes.  The  chins  of 
Hegel,  Gray,  and  Pater,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
at  least  one  size  too  large;  the  nose  and  mouth 
of  Tyndall  and  Emerson  are  certainly  two  sizes 
too  large;  Hans  Christian  Andersen  displays  an 
even  greater  lack  of  harmony.  Dr.  Johnson  com 
bined  a  fine  head  and  eyes  with  a  coarse  nose  and 
mouth;  Landor's  mouth  was  as  weak  as  his  head 
was  powerful.  Goldsmith  presented  the  extraor 
dinary  combination  of  a  low,  bulging  forehead, 
with  almost  no  head  behind  the  ears,  handsome 
eyes  and  noSe,  a  swollen  upper  lip,  and  a  reced 
ing  chin  —  all  much  pitted  with  smallpox.  Gold 
smith  is  a  striking  example,  for  in  spite  of  his 
singularly  unfortunate  appearance,  his  intrinsic 
charm  is  yet  obvious. 

"  Thus,  while  the  details  of  men's  faces  are  a 
source  of  curious  interest,  their  greatest  signifi 
cance  is  the  way  in  which  a  general  expression 
transpires  through  them.  We  are  not  in  the  least 
repelled  by  the  ugliness  of  Aesop  and  Socrates, 
the  'dumb-ox'  look  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  or  what 
Edward  Lear  called  'Wordsworth's  desire  for 
milk  appearance.'  When  Petrarch  appears  cheer 
ful  and  Montaigne  sad,  Smollett  mournful  and 
Spinoza  merry,  we  yet  feel  that  there  is  more 

[91  j 


The  Observations  of 

than  meets  the  eye.  I  believe,  Tennyson  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding,  that  a  man's  charade r 
is  usually  clear  in  his  countenance ;  here  I  take 
up  at  random  Confucius  and  Calvin,  Cicero  and 
Franklin,  Rabelais  and  Chaucer — who  could 
misjudge  them?  It  is  as  Hazlitt  said — you  get 
from  a  great  number  of  details  a  general  impres 
sion  which  is  true  and  well  founded,  although 
you  may  not  be  able  to  analyze  or  explain  it." 

"  1 1  is  certainly  most  interesting,"  I  said,  as  Pro 
fessor  Maturin  put  his  portraits  into  their  cabinet. 
"  I  wonder  why  the  subjecl  has  not  been  investi 
gated  more  fully  and  scientifically." 

"It  has  been  thought  about  a  good  deal,"  re 
plied  Professor  Maturin,  "ever  since  the  Greeks. 
Renaissance  rulers  thought  it  of  use  in  selecting 
their  courtiers.  Goethe  kept  a  painter  busy  record 
ing  faces  that  interested  him.  About  a  century  ago 
Lavater  devoted  a  score  of  handsome  folios,  with 
splendid  plates,  to  the  study  effaces,  but  his  treat 
ment  was  very  desultory  —  discussions  of  'deep, 
designing,  envious  villains  as  represented  by  Ra 
phael/  and  so  on.  Some  of  his  successors  went  to 
the  opposite  extreme  of  defmiteness,  concluding 
that  long  noses  denote  courage,  high  cheek-bones 
honesty,  large  lips  sociability,  and  the  like.  There 
have  been,  however,  various  scientific  studies, 

[92] 


Professor  Maturin 

such  as  Darwin's  on  the  expression  of  the  emo 
tions,  Galton's  composite  photography,  and  Ber- 
tillon's  accurate  system  of  measurement  and  clas 
sification.  Yet  for  some  reason  the  subject  still  re 
mains  one  of  those  that  bibliographers  catalogue 
as  merely  'curious.'  I  like  to  dip  into  it  now  and 
then  because  of  its  general  human  interest,  and 
always  find  it  a  stimulus  to  freshness  and  direct 
ness  of  observation;  a  caution,  as  Sir  Joshua  Rey 
nolds  said,  against  distrusting  imagination  and 
feeling  in  favor  of  'narrow,  partial,  confined,  ar 
gumentative  theories.' " 

I  remained  silent  while  Professor  Maturin 
looked  over  his  cases  for  a  book,  and  then  stood 
leafing  through  it,  until  he  found  his  place,  and 
said:  "Hazlitt  sums  the  matter  up  in  his  essay  'On 
the  Knowledge  of  Character'  with  these  words: 
'There  are  various  ways  of  getting  at  a  know 
ledge  of  character  —  by  looks,  words,  actions.  The 
first  of  these,  which  seems  the  most  superficial,  is 
perhaps  the  safest,  and  least  liable  to  deceive 
A  man's  look  is  the  work  of  years;  it  is  stamped 
on  his  countenance  by  the  events  of  his  whole 
life,  nay  more,  by  the  hand  of  nature.  .  .  .  This 
sort  of  prima  facie  evidence  shows  what  a  man  is, 
better  than  what  he  says  or  does.'" 

[93] 


As 


X 

Mental  Hygiene 
S  the  Vicar,  the  Physician,  and  I  entered  Pro 


fessor  Maturin's  study,  after  dinner,  the 
Vicar  sank  into  his  chair  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  Is 
it  so  bad  as  that  ?  "  queried  Professor  Maturin,  as 
he  passed  the  cigars.  "  I  beg  a  general  pardon," 
replied  the  Vicar. "  To-day  has  quite  tired  me  out, 
although  I  am  just  back  from  a  vacation."  The 
Physician  gazed  at  him  professionally  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  said:  "A  clear  case  for  the  Book 
of  Mental  Hygiene."  As  we  turned,  expectant, 
Professor  Maturin,  after  some  hesitation,  took  a 
portfolio  from  his  desk,  saying:  "The  Physician 
refers  to  a  collection  of  memoranda,  drawn  from 
my  experience  and  reading,  during  a  series  of 
years,  but  recently  put  into  something  like  order. 
They  are  semi-personal  in  substance,  and  quite 
staccato  in  form,  but  I  am  very  willing  to  read 
them  if  you  will  agree  to  stop  me  when  you  have 
had  enough."  Accepting  our  assent,  he  began: 

"  Now  that  science  can  cause  the  Ethiopian  to 

change  his  skin  and  the  leopard  his  spots, — that 

is,  can  modify  the  color  of  rabbits  and  multiply 

the  toes  of  guinea-pigs,  or  graft  new  character- 

[94] 


Professor  Maturin 

istics  on  cattle  or  on  grain,  —  it  is  high  time  to 
take  thought  for  the  efficient  and  economic  work 
ing  of  that  intellectual  machinery  which  is  not 
only  the  means  to  all  such  progress,  but  the  fun 
damental  condition  of  our  mental  being.  Even 
if  we  do  not  accept  Professor  Lankester's  view 
that  man  has  produced  such  a  special  state  for 
himself  that  he  must  either  acquire  firmer  hold 
of  the  conditions,  or  perish,  we  must  agree  with 
Professor  James  that  the  problem  of  access  to 
different  kinds  of  power  is  a  practical  issue  of 
supreme  importance. 

"  Physical  conditions,  of  course,  are  the  basis  of 
all  mental  hygiene.  Whatever  may  be  the  rela 
tion  between  body  and  mind,  no  one  can  doubt 
its  intimacy.  Many  persons,  like  Wordsworth  and 
Lowell,  suffer  physical  prostration  after  mental 
exertion;  nor  does  Dr.  Johnson  need  to  tell  us 
that  'ill-health  makes  every  one  a  scoundrel.' 
Habits  of  confinement  or  exercise  mean  so  much 
that  we  might  almost  know  from  their  work  that 
Balzac  and  Poe  wrote  in  closed  rooms;  but  that 
Wordsworth  and  Browning  composed  in  the  open 
air,  Burns  and  Scott  on  horseback,  Swinburne 
while  swimming.  It  is  true  that,  as  Roger  Asc ham 
said,  'walking  alone  into  the  field  hath  no  token 
of  courage  in  it,'  and  that  the  horsemanship  com- 
[95  ] 


The  Observations  of 

mended  by  Erasmus  is  expensive ;  but  there  are 
countless  forms  of  physical  exercise,  some  suit 
able  to  each.  George  Sand  set  a  standard  of  wis 
dom  in  increasing  her  exercise  when  under  espe 
cial  strain.  Food  and  sleep  also  influence  mental 
life  tremendously.  Whether  we  eat  one  simple 
meal  a  day  with  Kant,  or  many  varied  ones  with 
Goethe,  we  must  remember  the  laws  of  nutrition 
and  Carlyle's  warning  that  indigestion  comprises 
all  of  the  ills  of  life. 

"The  criteria  for  sleep  likewise  are  wholly 
individual  so  long  as  we  do  not  drowse  on  other 
people's  hearth-rugs  like  De  Quincey;  or,  like 
Rossetti,  entertain  our  callers  by  taking  naps. 
Some  think  it  impossible  to  get  too  much  sleep. 
Kant  limited  his  for  the  sake  of  soundness;  he, 
moreover,  carefully  tranquillized  his  mind  before 
going  to  bed,  not  by  a  total  exclusion  of  ideas  but 
by  a  selection.  Some  forms  of  analysis  and  com 
bination  appear  to  continue  during  sleep.  Gray 
had  a  friend  who  made  verses  in  his  dreams,  and 
Bancroft's  bedtime  problems  were  often  solved 
when  he  awoke.  The  time  to  sleep  and  the  time 
to  wake  must  be  left  to  individual  instinct  and 
social  sanction.  The  doctrine  of  deliberate  ris 
ing — dear  to  Lamb  and  Hazlitt,  Thackeray 
and  Lowell — has  recently  been  reinforced  by 

[96] 


Professor  Maturin 

a  French  savant's  declaration  that  getting  up 
quickly  leads  to  madness. 

"Again,  mental  life  is  so  conditioned  by  sen 
sations  that  every  man  should  ask  himself  Profes 
sor  Dowden's  list  of  questions  concerning  them. 
What  did  not  Tennyson  owe  to  his  hearing,  Keats 
to  his  taste  and  smell'?  Has  anything  ever  affeded 
human  character  more   than  the   present  eye- 
mindedness  due  to  printing  and  artificial  light 
ing?  We  have  recently  been  shown  the  relation 
between  thought  and  the  jerks  of  the  eye  in  read 
ing,  and  even  between  pessimism  and  eye-strain. 
What  might  not  be  explained  by  nervous  tension 
or  arterial  pressure,  in  Dr.  Holmes's  'bulbous- 
headed  men'  or  Donizetti's  creative  headaches. 
The  very  posture  of  the  body  is  important  in 
mental  labor — many  books  are  cramped  from 
being  bent  over.  Writers  in  bed  have  scientific 
endorsement  for  their  approach  to  the  horizon 
tal.  Yet,  as  this  is  hard  on  the  eyes,  a  reclining- 
chair  like  Milton's  seems  better.  But  no  habit 
should  be  too  rigid.  It  is  unwise  to  risk  Kant's 
distress  at  the  loss  of  the  weather-vane  he  gazed 
at  while  pondering;  and  one   doubts  whether 
Schiller's  odor  of  rotten  apples,  or  Gautier's  cat 
in  his  lap, or  Marryat's  lion-skin  table  were  worth 
the  trouble. 

[  97  1 


The  Observations  of 

"Accommodation  must  be  practiced  also  with 
regard  to  youth  and  age.  Whether  through  cellu 
lar  differentiation  or  bacteria,  age  so  profoundly 
affects  the  mind  that  books  might  almost  be  clas 
sified  according  to  the  productive  ages  of  their 
authors. 

"The  influence  of  climate  on  mental  life  is 
beyond  control,  except  as  we  may  choose  our 
place  of  residence  and  vary  our  occupation  ac 
cording  to  the  season  or  the  weather.  Days  vary 
according  to  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  vitality 
stored  at  week-ends — Monday  often  wasting  en 
ergy  that  is  much  missed  by  Friday.  Delibera 
tion  and  determination  can  do  much  to  increase 
efficiency  and  well-be  ing  by  em  ploy  ing  one's  best 
times  appropriately:  prizing  the  cumulative 
value  of  unbroken  hours, — of  morning  concen 
tration,  afternoon  acquisition,  and  evening  medi 
tation.  Those  who  cannot  control  the  day  must 
use  the  night — a  French  scientist  even  advocates 
a  watch  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  There  are  no 
rules  of  universal  applicability,  but  study  of  the 
characteristics  and  circumstances  of  our  best  mo 
ments  may  make  possible  their  easy  and  frequent 
duplication.  That  was  Pater's  recipe  for  success 
ful  living. 

"  In  the  matter  of  environment,  congenial  sur- 

[98  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

roundings  means  spontaneous  action.  Yet  lack  of 
harmony  may  stimulate:  pastoral  poetry  and 
landscape  painting  are  the  work  of  men  weary 
of  towns.  Both  town  stimulus  and  country  com 
posure  have  corresponding  values.  Many  realistic 
and  introspective  writers  agree  with  Poe  that  cir 
cumscription  of  space  aids  concentration  of  atten 
tion  :  Pope  worked  best  in  his  grotto,  Montaigne 
in  his  tower,  and  many  great  books  have  been 
written  in  prisons.  Many  romanticists  and  phi 
losophers,  on  the  other  hand,  prefer  wide  views 
from  hills  or  mountains,  or  to  be  beside  or  upon 
the  sea.  There  are  similar  differences  with  regard 
to  tidiness  or  disorder  among  scholarly  parapher 
nalia  and  personal  belongings.  Both  efficiency 
and  happiness  depend  upon  a  nice  individual 
balance  of  habit  and  variety,  freedom  and  re 
straint.  Flaubert  used  the  same  study  for  forty 
years,  and  Lecky  could  think  only  when  per 
fectly  tranquil;  but  William  Morris  and  Anthony 
Trollope  liked  to  write  on  railway  trains. 

"  As  for  mental  society  or  solitude,  there  has 
been,  as  Edmund  Gosse  puts  it,  'a  strong  senti 
ment  of  intellectual  comradeship  in  every  age  of 
real  intellectual  vitality/  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton  was  probably  right  in  saying  that  intellect 
ual  traditions  persist  more  through  coteries  than 
[  99  ] 


The  Observations  of 

through  books.  Some  general  society  is  necessary 
to  cultivate  tolerance  and  sympathy.  One  must 
also  come  to  some  adjustment  with  democracy 
—  its  freedom  and  unrest,  its  ideal  foundation  and 
materialistic  structure,  its  lack  of  prejudice  and 
its  inexperience  —  we  cannot  rest  in  Socrates' 
opinion  that  the  majority  is  merely  a  heap  of  bad 
pennies.  After  the  demands  of  social  service  are 
arranged  for,  however,  the  intellect  must  look 
through  and  beyond  popular  standards,  and  pur 
chase  independence  at  whatever  cost.  Much  se 
clusion  is  essential  for  knowledge,  some  solitude 
for  wisdom.  Both  independence  and  sympathy 
are  attained  through  an  inner  circle  of  select  com 
panions,  kept  in  what  Dr.  Johnson  called  repair, 
by  Emerson's  plan  of  allowing  the  less  interested 
to  fall  away  and  be  replaced  by  choice  additions. 
"  Mental  health,  moreover,  demands  some  con 
scious  agreement  with  one's  income,  and  some 
mastery  of  expenditure.  Too  much  money  is  as 
bad  as  too  little.  A  generous  amount  insures  free 
activity  and  rich  material,  but  it  relaxes  deter 
mination  and  demands  discrimination.  Wealth 
is  essential  for  works  of  great  accumulation  in 
history,  or  of  fine  appreciation  in  the  arts.  But 
humanists  appear  to  be  none  the  worse  for  pov 
erty —  Cervantes  was  a  public  letter- writer,  and 


Professor  Maturin 

his  family  took  in  washing.  It  is  well,  in  any  case, 
to  learn  with  Socrates  how  many  things  one  does 
not  need,  and  to  remember  that  there  are  uses 
even  for  adversity. 

"  From  physical  foundation  and  social  setting 
we  approach  personality: — that  something  pe 
culiarly  our  own  which,  in  the  words  of  Petrarch, 
4 it  is  both  easier  and  wiser  to  cultivate:  arid  to 
correct  than  to  alter;'  that  something  within, us 
which,  in  the  words  of  Emerson;  'accepts  and 
disposes  of  impressions  after  a  native,  individ 
ual  law/  We  grow  in  wisdom  as  we  grow  in  the 
knowledge  of  such  inner  laws.  They  are  funda 
mental  and  inevitable.  They  control  mental  life 
and  are  not  to  be  controlled  save  through  much 
self-realization.  Is  a  man  instinctively  active,  or 
does  he  love  contemplation  and  the  forsaking  of 
works'?  Is  he  single-minded,  identified  with  his 
occupation,  or  does  he  work  merely  for  bread  and 
live,  for  himself  alone,  in  some  dear  avocation? 
The  single-minded  may  look  forward  to  the  per- 
fedion  that  comes  from  practice — and  toward 
becoming  subdued  to  what  he  works  in.  Hence 
Charles  Lamb  on  the  melancholy  of  tailors  and 
Dr.  Robertson  Nicoll  on  Matthew  Arnold  as  ever 
the  inspector  of  schools.  Other  men  show  their 
spontaneity  and  genuineness  in  their  avocations 


The  Observations  of 

— witness  Michael  Angelo's  sonnets  and  Vidor 
Hugo's  sketches.  Little  intentional  literature  has 
charmed  the  world  like  the  amateur  quatrains  of 
Omar  the  astronomer,  translated  by  Fitzgerald 
the  dilettante. 

"Is  a  man  an  idealist  or  a  realist?  Let  him 
ponder  Don  Quixote's  impradicali  ty  and  Sancho 
Pah^a'.r&imlessness,  following  inner  impulse  or 
'outward  stimulus,  denying  the  world  or  losing 
his  owii  fcoul:rLet  him  ponder,  moreover,  Rem 
brandt's  struggle  to  serve  both  at  the  same  time. 
The  pitfalls  of  the  realist  are  proverbial,  but 
ideals,  also,  may  be  dangerous,  through  mistaken 
selection,  partial  generalization,  or  imperfect  ad 
justment  to  the  fads  in  hand. 

"What,  again,  are  our  innate  or  acquired  inter 
ests  and  desires?  Does  their  vision  of  the  future 
help  or  hinder  our  realization  of  the  present?  Do 
we  aspire  after  the  impossible,  expecting  preci 
sion  or  clarity,  brevity  or  completeness,  where 
they  cannot  or  should  not  be  ?  Do  we  apprehend 
the  unlikely?  'If  any  thing  external  vexes  you,' 
says  Marcus  Aurelius,  'take  notice  that  it  is  not 
the  thing  which  disturbs  you,  but  your  notion 
about  it,  which  notion  you  may  dismiss  at  once 
if  you  please.'  Disappointment,  says  Dr.  John 
son,  'you  may  easily  compensate  by  enjoining 

[    102] 


Professor  Maturin 

yourself  some  particular  study,  or  opening  some 
new  avenue  to  information.'  If  we  cannot  attain, 
like  Lamb,  to  hissing  our  failures,  let  us,  like  La 
Motte,  retire  to  a  Trappist  monastery,  and  drown 
consciousness  in  study.  Let  us  not  expect  ideal 
conditions — Spencer  and  Huxley  could  work 
but  three  hours  a  day.  Let  us  look,  if  necessary,  to 
our  compensations.  Napoleon  had  satisfactions 
in  spite  of  his  standing  forty-second  at  military 
school.  Darwin's  inability  to  master  languages 
and  his  loss  of  pleasure  in  poetry,  painting,  music, 
and  natural  scenery  were  more  than  made  up  for. 
Let  us  hope  for  no  'simple,  plausible,  easy  solu 
tion  of  life  that  will  free  us  from  all  responsibil 
ity;  '  but  endeavor  to  apprehend  and  ennoble  our 
practical  religion,  that  scale  of  values  according 
to  which  we  spend  our  hoard  of  life. 

"  Mental  action  varies  with  individuals,  yet 
Emerson's  general  statement  is  true — 'thought 
is  a  kind  of  reception  uncontrolled  by  will;  we 
can  only  open  our  senses  and  clear  away  obstruc 
tions;  suddenly  thought  engages  us;  afterward  we 
remember  the  process  and  its  results.'  Attention, 
however,  may  be  led,  if  not  driven;  sensibility 
may  become  dirigible ;  it  is  possible  to  learn  how 
to  keep  a  fresh  eye.  Observation  of  our  reactions 
will  make  possible  a  wise  selection  among  stimuli ; 


The  Observations  of 

so  Gray  learned  to  seek  music,  Darwin  to  avoid 
it,  and  many  have  come  to  some  conscious  rela 
tion  between  reading  and  writing.  Experience 
will  teach  us  how  to  free  the  mind  from  haunting 
suggestions  by  fixing  and  holding  their  values; 
how  to  recoiled  emotion  in  tranquillity;  how  to 
begin  work  slowly,  and  steadily,  and  then  accel 
erate;  how  to  value  the  process  as  well  as  the  pro 
duct  of  acquisition.  We  may  learn,  through  the 
slowness  of  accumulation,  that  we  retain  only 
what  we  use,  that  a  bad  memory  may  be  the  best, 
because  selective,  that  even  leisure  may  be  well 
employed.  'Whatever  I  do  or  do  not  do/  said 
Sainte-Beuve, '  I  cease  not  to  learn  from  the  book 
of  life.'  Lope  de  Vega,  sailing  with  the  Armada, 
sacrificed  all  his  manuscripts  for  gun-wads,  but 
landed  with  eleven  thousand  new  verses. 

"With  such  realization  of  ends  and  calcula 
tion  of  means,  production  reduces  itself  largely 
to  a  matter  of  method.  'The  difference  between 
persons/  said  Emerson,  'is  not  in  wisdom,  but 
in  the  art  of  classifying  and  using  facts.'  Each 
mind  has  some  ways  in  which  it  works  most  easily 
and  efficiently;  let  us  discover  and  arrange  for 
these,  and  reap  the  rewards.  Then  it  is  time  to  re 
member  Dante's  saying  that '  sitting  upon  down 
one  cometh  not  to  fame/  and  Whistler's  that 
[  I04  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

'drudgery  leads  to  felicity,'  and  Emerson's  that 
'inspiration  is  the  sister  of  daily  labor.'  Newton 
made  his  discoveries  '  simply  by  always  thinking 
about  them.'  Darwin's  method  was  as  elaborate 
as  it  was  successful  —  with  portfolios  of  abstracts, 
memoranda,  and  references;  detailed,  general, 
and  classified  indexes  for  books;  brief,  then  full, 
then  minute  outlines  before  beginning  to  write. 
Concentration  and  intensity  of  thought  come  al 
most  of  themselves  through  such  a  system.  Dar 
win's  practice,  too,  of  writing  rapidly  and  later 
correcting  deliberately,  reaped  the  reward  of  both 
states  of  mind  without  suffering  the  loss  involved 
in  continually  changing  from  one  adjustment  to 
another,  —  that  drain  of  energy  which  makes  in 
terruptions  so  wasteful,  even  to  minds  that  focus 
quickly.  Wisely  controlled  change  combines  the 
benefits  of  continuity  and  variety.  The  scientist, 
whose  study  requires  muscular  as  well  as  mental 
activity,  tires  less  easily  than  the  scholar  busied 
wholly  with  books.  Varying  the  adjustment  of 
the  same  part,  or  successively  occupying  differ 
ent  parts  of  the  mechanism,  is  more  refreshing 
than  total  relaxation. 

"While  thus  adapted  to  the  mental  mechan 
ism,  a  successful  system  must  also  be  adjustable 
to  the  material  in  hand.  Observation  must  be  re- 


The  Observations  of 

ceptive,  reading  selective.  Poets  may  harvest  their 
dreams ;  historians  must  winnow  their  documents. 
Goethe's  '  vast  abundance  of  objects  that  must 
be  before  us  ere  we  can  think  upon  them,'  and 
Hawthorne's  'immense  amount  of  history  that 
it  takes  to  make  a  little  literature,'  must  be  pro 
vided  for,  along  with  Pater's  selection  and  rejec 
tion —  'all  art  does  but  consist  in  the  removal  of 
surplusage.'  Every  system  ought  to  provide,  at 
any  time  and  in  any  place,  some  form  of  record, 
careful  enough  to  be  permanent,  yet  so  simple 
as  not  to  be  wasteful  if  never  used — an  envelope 
that  can  contain  data  or  be  written  upon  itself 
meets  these  needs.  A  system  for  preservation  and 
arrangement  must  be  comprehensive  enough  to 
include  everything,  accurate  enough  to  make 
everything  available,  flexible  enough  to  vary 
with  any  need,  yet  so  simple  as  not  to  become 
a  tax.  Few  devices  are  better  than  Darwin's  la 
belled  portfolios,  or  smaller  envelopes  arranged 
alphabetically  or  logically.  Note-books  are  use 
ful  only  when  abstracted  or  indexed.  There  are 
clergymen  whose  sermons  write  themselves  as 
particular  texts  accumulate  references  in  the  in 
terleaved  Bibles  in  which  they  note  what  inter 
ests  them.  For  coordination  and  organization  few 
things  equal  a  tabular  abstract  on  a  single  sheet 


Professor  Maturin 

of  paper  large  enough  to  show  at  a  glance  the 
nature  of  all  the  material.  Such  implements  in 
fluence  intellectual  efficiency  more  than  we  sup 
pose.  Much  crabbed  writing  is  due  to  bad  pens, 
much  journalistic  ease  to  soft  pencils.  Self-reali 
zation  and  the  sense  of  life  depend  upon  some 
form  of  diary;  style  varies  with  dictation  and  the 
typewriter. 

"  The  chief  criteria  of  mental  efficiency,  then," 
read  Professor  Maturin,  with  a  glance  at  the 
clock,  "lie  between  Matthew  Arnold's  definitions 
of  genius — 'mainly  an  affair  of  energy'  and  'an 
infinite  capacity  for  taking  pains.'  Professor 
James,  holding  that  the  average  man  uses  only 
a  small  part  of  his  energy,  would  have  us  persist 
through  fatigue  and  '  second  wind,'  perhaps  to  a 
third  and  a  fourth.  Even  if  experiment,  however, 
did  not  show  that  working  beyond  the  fatigue 
point  yields  a  rapidly  decreasing  product  at  a 
rapidly  increasing  cost,  it  would  be  uneconomic 
to  attempt  to  increase  our  flow  of  energy  so  long 
as  we  waste  so  much  of  what  we  have  in  ineffi 
cient  and  unhygienic  methods  of  work.  Let  us 
rather  study  the  conditions  of  our  best  moments, 
clear  away  hindrances,  and  provide  helps.  Let 
us  prize  the  spontaneous  activity  of  each  state, 
using  fortunate  moments  for  concentration,  less 


Professor  Maturin 

efficient  periods  for  accumulation  and  selection, 
looking  to  future  coordination.  Let  us  follow  nat 
ural  rhythms  of  activity,  relaxing  primary  activ 
ities  by  secondary  functions  useful  also  in  them 
selves.  Thus  regularity  and  routine  will  develop 
speed;  accumulation  and  economy  end  in  ripe 
ness.  Quantity  condenses  into  quality;  selection 
and  arrangement  grow  into  judgment  and  intui 
tion  that  may  bear  inspiration  and  vision.  'A 
man's  vision,'  says  Professor  James,  'is  the  great 
thing  about  him.'  The  natural  history  of  such 
vision,  however,  indicates  that  it  is  scarcely 
more  than  the  synthetic  apex  of  long  and  careful 
accumulation.  The  moment  of  the  apercu  is 
so  memorable  that  the  conditions  precedent  are 
usually  forgotten,  but  the  precious  brilliance  of 
the  diamond  is  merely  the  result  of  a  happy  crys 
tallization  of  common  elements. 

"  For  all  of  which,"  concluded  Professor  Ma 
turin  with  a  smile,  as  he  closed  his  portfolio,  "  I 
bespeak  your  most  esteemed  consideration." 


[  108] 


p 


XI 

The  Mystery  of  Dress 

ROFESSOR  MATURIN  was  leaning  side- 
wise  on  his  cane,  gazing  at  the  river.  I  stood 
by  his  side  several  moments  before  he  came  out 
of  his  reverie,  greeted  me  warmly,  and  proposed 
a  walk  along  the  Drive. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  he, "  of  Fitzgerald's  fall 
ing  overboard  and  coming  up  serenely,  still  wear 
ing  his  top  hat.  This  morning,  while  reading  Scar- 
ron's  sonnet  on  the  decay  of  the  pyramids  and 
his  black  doublet,  I  noticed  that  I  too  needed 
a  new  coat.  Later,  I  lunched  with  one  colleague 
who  is  as  dressy  as  Disraeli,  and  another  who 
goes  almost  as  much  out  at  elbows  as  Napoleon 
when  he  entered  Moscow.  I  have  just  left  a  third, 
who  is  devoted  to  Lowell's  favorite  combination 
of  short  coat  and  top  hat.  That  brought  me,  by 
way  of  Old  Fitz,  to  a  general  contemplation  of 
the  custom  of  wearing  clothes.  Hast  any  such 
philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd?" 

"  But  little,  I  fear,"  replied  I,  "unless  Carlyle's 
will  do." 

"Scarcely,  if  you  mean  '  Sartor  Resartus,'"  was 
his  answer.  "  Do  you  believe  that  man,  by  nature 
[  I09  ] 


The  Observations  of 

a  naked  animal,  is  demoralized  by  clothes,  and 
that  a  return  to  nudity  would  dissolve  society? 
On  the  contrary,  when  Humphrey  Howarth,  the 
surgeon,  went  to  a  duel  naked  for  fear  of  the  in 
fection  of  cloth  in  a  gunshot  wound,  his  antag 
onist  came  to  his  senses  and  withdrew  his  chal 
lenge.  Of  course,  I  agree  that  whatever  represents 
spirit  is  a  kind  of  clothing,  and  that  wisdom  looks 
through  vestures  to  realities.  But  clothes  in  'Sar 
tor'  are  merely  the  beginning  of  a  philosophy  of 
things  in  general.  Carlyle's  irritation  when  Brown 
ing  called  on  him  in  a  green  riding-coat,  and  his 
own  refusal  to  carry  an  umbrella  are  more  to  my 
point.  It  is  obviously  appropriate  that  George 
Borrow  should  always  have  carried  an  umbrella, 
I  understand  how  Goethe  could  ignore  waist 
coats  and  Coleridge  forget  his  shirt,  but  why  did 
Dickens  dress  like  a  dandy  and  Swinburne  like 
a  farmer?  What  do  clothes  mean?" 

"They  sometimes  represent  the  state  of  their 
owners'  finances,"  said  I.  "  Lack  of  suitable  cloth 
ing  made  Poe  decline  dinners  and  Johnson  dine 
behind  the  screen — if  he  really  did." 

"And  Lovelace  vary  between  cloth  of  gold 
and  rags,"  continued  Professor  Maturin  medita 
tively,  "much  as  Rembrandt  varies  his  dress  in 
his  portraits  of  himself.  But  that  was  when  one 


Professor  Maturin 

man  would  wear  the  worth  of  a  thousand  oaks 
and  a  hundred  oxen,  when  mantles  were  con 
ferred  by  royal  patent,  and  orders  grew  rich  out 
of  hat  monopolies.  To-day,  however,  in  spite  of 
adulterations  that  I  am  told  call  for  a  pure  tex 
tile  law,  few  of  us  are  in  need  either  of  Pepys' 
prayers  to  be  able  to  pay  his  tailor,  or  of  Lord 
Westminster's  thrifty  making  over  his  servants' 
liveries  for  himself. 

"Habit  influences  us  more  than  cost,  but  what 
influences  habit?  Why  did  Milton  always  wear 
black,  Pope  gray,  and  Lamb  snuff  color?  Why 
did  distributing  his  cast  clothes  'disconsolate  and 
intender'  Montaigne?  Why  did  Tennyson  send 
his  old  clothes  tobe  measured  for  new  ones  ?  Why 
do  I  find  myself  repeating  an  outfit  I  once  chose 
because  it  suggested  what  naturalists  call  protec 
tive  coloration — when  an  animal,  like  a  squirrel 
on  a  tree-trunk,  is  scarcely  distinguishable  from 
its  background?  Do  I  make  a  good  principle 
gloss  a  dull  habit?" 

"Such  a  habit,"  I  replied,  "like  George  Fox's 
suit  of  leather,  does  deprive  you  of  the  interest 
that  accompanies  even  unsuccessful  effort  for  va 
riety.  The  fairer  sex  is  never  wearied  in  its  quest 
of  beautiful  garb,  nor  sated  with  the  rapture  of 
attainment." 


The  Observations  of 

"  How  curiously  we  have  changed  all  that," 
replied  Professor  Maturin,  uin  the  three  centu 
ries  since  James  Howell  said  that  a  letter  should 
be  attired  simply,  like  a  woman;  an  oration  richly, 
like  a  man.  I  would  not,  like  him,  have  putting 
on  a  clean  shirt  an  occasion  for  special  prayer ;  but 
perhaps  we  have  gone  too  far  in  our  neglect  of 
finery.  Dr.  Holmes's  counsel,  'always  err  up  on  the 
safe  side,'  may  be  too  cautious.  Allingham  says 
that  Leigh  Hunt  was  old  in  street  costume,  but 
young  in  his  dressing-gown.  Perhaps  Goldsmith's 
satin,  or  Jefferson's  plush,  or  Mark  Twain's  white 
flannels  would  renew  my  youth." 

"  Are  you  elated  by  your  scarlet  gown  on  Com 
mencement  Day'? "said  I. 

"  By  no  means  so  much  as  the  boys  are,"  he 
replied  with  a  chuckle.  "But  that  suggests  an 
other  aspect  of  the  matter.  Outward  and  visible 
signs  move  those  who  are  blind  to  inward  graces. 
Since  Protestantism  is  retrieving  some  of  its  ban 
ished  ceremonial,  it  might  advance  learning  to 
clothe  it  with  more  circumstance.  Yet,  we  seem 
to  hesitate  at  symbolic  clothing.  Police  and  mili 
tary  uniforms  help  law  and  order,  but  we  toler 
ate  ecclesiastical,  judicial,  and  academic  costume 
only  during  the  performance  of  specific  functions. 
We  are  so  far  from  intellectual  blue-stockings 


Professor  Maturin 

and  political  sans-culottes,  that  we  smile  at  musi 
cians'  hair  and  painters'  cloaks,  and  banish  yacht 
ing  and  golf  clothes  from  every-day  wear. 

"Simplicity  seems  the  only  unwritten  law  that 
has  succeeded  so  many  written  ones  concern 
ing  clothes.  Tradition  itself  is  weak.  We  wear  the 
Roman  orator's  neck-cloth,  the  wrist-bands  that 
marked  the  gentleman's  freedom  from  manual 
labor,  the  nobleman's  black  evening  clothes,  the 
courtier's  sword-belt  and  gauntlet  buttons,  and 
a  sailor  king's  long  trousers — but  all  because 
we  wish  to,  or,  at  least,  do  not  mind.  Names  are 
naught,  whether  of  mackintoshes  or  cravenettes 
or  bluchers  or  tam-o'-shanters.  We  ignore  even 
fashion,  with  its  ever  varying  promise  of  equality 
to  the  uncomely  and  its  powerful  economic  urge. 
We  are  emancipated  by  a  common-sense  in 
clothes  that  would  have  jailed  a  man  in  Addison's 
day. 

"We  may  dress  as  we  like,  so  long  as  we  are 
inconspicuous,  but  we  must  be  that.  We  will  no 
longer  tolerate  clothes-advertising  like  the  Ad 
mirable  Crichton's.  The  man  who  lost  his  lawsuit 
for  damages  because  his  horse  ran  away  when  he 
saw  the  first  top  hat  in  England,  would  recover  at 
least  costs  to-day.  Gautier  deserved  the  mobbing 
his  pink  doublet  cost  him.  Tennyson  was  right 


The  Observations  of 

to  charge  a  young  woman  with  creaking  stays, 
and  to  apologize  when  he  found  that  the  sound 
came  from  his  own  braces." 

"What  other  principles  would  you  adduce?" 
said  I. 

"A  modicum  of  care,"  he  continued,  "in 
agreement  with  Plato  and  Ruskin,  that  'clothes 
carefully  cared  for  and  rightly  worn,  show  a  bal 
anced  mind.'  I  would  have  clothes  appropriate, 
too,  to  climate,  use,  and  the  individuality  of  the 
wearer.  I  was  once  advised,  most  profitably,  by 
a  friendly  portrait  painter  as  to  what  was  appro 
priate  to  my'  figure,  features,  and  coloring.  He 
objected  especially  to  my  hats. 

"It  is  curious  how  difficult  hats  are,"  contin 
ued  Professor  Maturin,  after  a  pause  that  I  for 
bore  to  break.  "  I  doubt  if  any  one,  except  For- 
tunatus,  ever  had  a  perfect  one.  The  Greeks  were 
wise  in  having  little  to  do  with  them — suppose 
all  Greek  statues  had  their  straw  bonnets  tied 
under  the  chin!  Indeed,  hats  are  chiefly  develop 
ments  of  the  last  five  centuries,  and,  it  is  said, 
baldness  with  them.  Yet,  Synesius  wrote  'In 
Praise  of  Baldness;'  Caesar  prized  the  privilege 
of  continually  wearing  a  laurel  crown  because  it 
hid  his,  and  I  do  not  know  why  else  the  academic 
mortar-board  comes  down  so  far  behind.  I  will  not 
[ 


Professor  Maturin 

wear  a  ventilating  hat  like  Rossetti's,  although  I 
long  for  summer  and  the  straws  that  America 
has  done  so  much  to  popularize. 

"I  am  too  thin  for  the  comfortable  Tenny- 
sonian  sombrero.  I  enjoy,  as  a  dressing-gown,  a 
cowled  Capuchin  robe  that  I  once  had  made 
on  Lake  Orta,  because  of  my  theory  that  the 
flowering  of  the  monastic  mind  in  the  Middle 
Ages  was  due  to  the  germinating  heat  of  hoods. 
But,  generally,  I  would  emulate  an  acquaintance 
who  usually  carries  his  hat  in  his  hand,  or  another 
who  actually  owns  none,  were  that  not  too  con 
spicuous.  Even  Leigh  Hunt's  charming  essay 
on  '  Hats,  Ancient  and  Modern7  has  no  help  for 
me — although  I  believe  I  might  like  a  cocked 
hat  or  a  chapeau. 

"  I  can  take  comfort  in  a  coat,"  he  continued, 
"if  it  is  loose;  and  in  overcoats,  if  they  resemble 
Socrates'  cloak,  or  the  cloak  that  Petrarch  be 
queathed  to  Boccaccio.  Indeed,  I  should  welcome 
a  return  to  shawls.  I  am  uncomfortable  in  any 
neckwear  but  black,  or  in  any  but  reindeer  gray 
gloves.  I  should  disesteem  trousers  had  I  not 
once  inadvertently  worn  a  striped  pair  with  even 
ing  clothes — since  then  I  have  respeded  their 
power.  In  shoes  I  emulate  Wellington's  care,  for, 
like  William  Morris,  I  need  rather  large  ones. 
[  "5  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

And  I  enjoy  canes  as  much  as  Wellington  did 
umbrellas." 

"All  of  which,"  said  I,  as  we  reached  Pro 
fessor  Maturin's  door,  "even  if  unvaried,  is  suf 
ficiently  sober,  appropriate,  and  individual." 

"And  simple  enough,"  concluded  he,  "for 
Frederick  the  Great  or  Newton.  But,  most  of 
all,  I  wish  that  the  Germans  would  extend  their 
investigations  in  the  hygiene  of  clothing.  If  we 
knew  more  about  that,  we  might  trust  its  archi 
tecture  and  ornamentation  to  any  discriminating 
tailor." 


T 


XII 

Questions  at  Issue 

HE  Sindbad  Society  at  its  last  meeting— 
on  the  night  of  the  full  moon,  according  to 
custom — met  within  the  hospitable  doors  of  the 
Ollapod  Club.  There,  in  the  room  with  the  roses 
on  the  ceiling,  we  had  for  dinner  caviare  with 
limes,  a  thin  mushroom  soup,  duck  roasted  over 
spice-wood,  Turinese  pepperoni  of  chilies  and 
preserved  grapes,  Leghorn  coffee,  and  Turkish 
sweetmeats. 

The  archaeologist  was  hot  against  such  mod 
ern  abuses  as  motor  boats  in  Venice,  and  motor 
cars  on  what  he  called  the  finest  roads  in  the 
world — those  from  Nice  to  Genoa,  Amalfi  to 
Sorrento,  and  Ragusa  to  Gravosa.  But  when  the 
diplomat  begged  him  also  to  ban  the  ancient 
and  dishonorable  dogs  from  Constantinople,  he 
became  resigned  to  life's  little  ironies,  and,  in  re 
sponse  to  a  general  request,  described  quite  won 
derfully  how,  after  years  of  fruitless  digging,  he 
had  found  a  royal  tomb  in  Egypt,  and  entered  its 
hot  silence,  to  find  its  stately  presences,  its  fur 
niture  and  linen,  its  sacrificial  bread  and  incense 
and  flowers,  all  with  their  sense  of  yesterday 
enduring  through  the  ages. 
t  "7] 


The  Observations  of 

This  prompted  the  musician,  who  was  reared 
in  Turkey,  to  tell  how  an  Arab  sheik  he  used  to 
visit  in  the  desert  always  bore  with  him  the  same 
atmosphere  of  untold  centuries.  The  colonel  fol 
lowed,  queerly  enough,  by  saying  that  in  his  aero 
plane  tests  he  always  had  the  same  impression 
of  the  endless  duration  of  time.  Then  some  one 
broke  the  happy  spell,  as  people  will,  with  some 
thing  clever  and  distracting,  although  the  joke 
was  good  enough — James  Howell's  on  people 
who  "travel  much  but  see  little,  like  Jonah  in 
the  whale." 

At  that  the  talk  scattered,  the  colonel  describ 
ing  Coromandel  and  Malabar,  the  biologist  a 
boat  he  was  building;  the  mountain-climber  plan 
ning  for  Alaska,  and  the  painter  for  Japan,  until 
the  psychologist  asked  the  last  why  he  was  going 
there. 

The  painter  bent  his  head  sidewise  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  he  does  when  he  is  thoughtful,  and  then 
said:  "Partly  for  the  natural  beauty,  but  chiefly 
to  study  an  art  that  does  not  disturb  the  truth 
of  its  impressions  by  conscious  theories  like  our 
perspective;  that  honors  color  and  emotion  as 
well  as  line  and  thought." 

"Your  psychology  is  sound,"  commented  the 
other.  "Color  vision  is  very  organic,  which  is 


Professor  Maturin 

to  say,  emotional;  being  apparently  caused  by 
minute  chemical  changes  in  the  eye,  under  the 
adion  of  light.  The  appreciation  of  line,  on  the 
other  hand,  seems  to  be  due  to  mental  associa 
tion  with  touching  and  feeling,  and  therefore  is 
rather  a  matter  of  attention  and  judgment." 

"  Will  you  kindly  explain  me  also  *? "  asked  the 
musician,  who  had  been  telling  how  no  one  knows 
his  own  voice  in  a  phonograph,  because  every 
one  hears  his  own  speech  reverberate  through 
his  inner,  as  well  as  his  outer  ear. 

"  Music  is  the  most  emotional  and  the  most 
rhythmical  of  the  arts,"  continued  the  psychol 
ogist,  "because  the  auditory  nerve  keeps  close 
company  in  the  brain  with  nerves  from  the  heart 
and  lungs.  Melody  is  merely  a  series  of  answers 
to  the  body's  expectation  of  its  usual  rhythm.  As 
one  of  your  own  critics  has  said,  when  music 
seems  to  be  yearning  for  the  unutterable  it  is 
only  yearning  for  the  next  note." 

The  musician  quelled  the  psychologist  with  an 
imaginary  baton,  which  he  then  pointed  at  the 
biologist,  saying,  "Pray  prove  to  the  psychol 
ogist  that  he  is  nothing  but  pulp." 

"  He  is  surely  little  else,"  smiled  the  biologist, 
"built  by  evolution  and  run  by  a  chemical  en 
gine." 

[  "9] 


The  Observations  of 

"Out  on  you  scientists  and  your  evolution!" 
broke  in  the  archaeologist.  "Can  your  mechan 
ism  make  a  Raphael,  a  Shakespeare,  a  Beetho 
ven*?  Can  your  evolution  show  any  architecture, 
sculpture,  statecraft,  drama,  or  philosophy  equal 
to  those  of  the  age  of  Pericles'?  The  world  will 
produce  nothing  fine  or  permanent  so  long  as  you 
fellows  tinker  with  its  machinery.  Your  heresy 
of  universal  progress  is  merely  a  contemporary 
mythology  that  is  falser  than — " 

"Softly,  softly,"  said  Professor  Maturin,  shak 
ing  his  long  forefinger  at  the  disputants.  "The 
true  philosopher,  with  Dante,  loves  every  part  of 
wisdom.  Why  can  we  not  all  enjoy  knowing  that 
cats  hear  better  than  dogs,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
appreciate  Blake's  saying  that  the  sun  is  not  a 
round  ball  of  fire,  but  the  glory  of  the  universe  ?" 

Everybody  prepared  to  be  mollified  until  Pro 
fessor  Maturin  undid  his  peacemaking  by  ask 
ing  the  astronomer  to  tell  us  all  what  a  comet 
looked  like.  When  the  astronomer  replied  that  he 
had  not  looked  through  a  telescope  for  years,  but 
spent  his  time  entirely  in  making  calculations, 
the  archaeologist  threw  up  his  hands  and  moved 
over  to  the  painter  and  the  musician,  growling 
that  he  was  going  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing  talking  to  somebody  he  understood. 


Professor  Maturin 

I  heard  the  two  eagerly  agree  with  him  that 
the  Nile  was  the  finest  river  in  the  world,  if  you 
were  there  in  November,  but  that  you  ought 
never  go  to  Japan  except  in  summer,  and  then 
I  moved  to  other  groups,  where  the  mountain 
eer  was  comparing  the  view  of  the  eternal  snows 
from  Darjeeling  with  that  of  valley,  river,  and 
sea  from  Mount  Wellington,  in  Tasmania;  or 
the  diplomat  was  telling  about  Bulgaria;  or  the 
importer  describing  the  Taj  Mahal  by  moon 
light;  or  the  psychologist  quoting,  with  a  twin 
kle  toward  the  archaeologist,  Sir  Francis  Galton's 
saying,  that  men  who  are  too  bad  for  Europe  go 
to  Constantinople,  those  who  are  too  bad  for  Con 
stantinople  go  to  Cairo,  and  those  who  are  too  bad 
for  Cairo  go  to  Khartoum. 

Everybody  talked  for  a  long  while,  since  this 
was  the  last  meeting  for  the  year,  and  in  spite 
of  the  earlier  disagreement,  which  was,  perhaps, 
more  apparent  than  real,  I  remember  the  even 
ing  as  one  of  especial  illumination. 


XIII 

The  Fountain  of  Youth 

PROFESSOR  MATURIN'S  study  lamps  were 
dimmed  to  the  mellow  glow  that  makes 
good  talk.  But  his  coffee  and  cigars  were  so  wor 
thy  of  the  dinner  we  had  just  ended  that  we  con 
tinued  to  smoke  in  silent  content,  until  our  host 
asked  about  the  Vicar's  vacation. 

"  My  plans  are  about  as  usual,"  answered  that 
worthy,  naming  his  sea-shore  place  without  en 
thusiasm. 

"Mine,  too,  are  about  the  same,"  added  Pro 
fessor  Maturin,  naming  his  similar  place,  with  a 
similar  lack  of  interest. 

The  Physician  hemmed  severely  and  shifted 
in  his  chair.  "  Let  us  have  it,"  smiled  Professor 
Maturin. 

"  Why  will  you  act  as  though  you  were  a  hun 
dred  years  old?"  said  he. 

"Perhaps  we  feel  so,  sometimes,"  replied  Pro 
fessor  Maturin,  while  the  Vicar  nodded.  "  I  fancy 
we  would  not  ignore  the  fountain  of  youth,  if  we 
knew  where  it  was." 

"It  isn't  far,"  retorted  the  Physician;  "it's 
merely  open  air  and  exercise." 

[ 


Professor  Maturin 

"  I  love  open  air,"  said  Professor  Maturin, "  but 
I  hate  what  is  usually  called  exercise." 

"Naturally,"  replied  the  Physician,  "being 
a  man  of  mind.  The  cult  of  muscle  is  ridicu 
lous  in  intellectual  people.  Muscle  and  vitality 
are  by  no  means  the  same,  and  you  cannot  do 
much  for  either  through  unnatural  gymnastics. 
But  I  mean  by  exercise  the  maintenance  of  har 
mony  between  one's  specialized  functions  and 
what  may  be  called  fundamental  activity,  so  that 
the  whole  works  together  happily  and  spontane 
ously.  Such  a  balance  is  as  easy  to  preserve  as 
it  is  important  We  evolved  as  we  are  through  a 
series  of  large  general  movements,  and  we  need 
to  continue  enough  of  those  to  preserve  a  coor 
dination  that  complements  and  supplements  the 
particular  functions  that  we  most  practice.  Thus, 
we  walk  upright,  instead  of  on  all  fours,  proba 
bly  as  the  result  of  long  reaching  and  climbing. 
Climbing  is  not  always  convenient,  but  one  may 
practice  setting  up  exercises  anywhere  until  he 
feels  as  upright  and  as  sprightly  as  a  primate.  I 
grant  you  it  may  not  seem  dignified,"  admitted 
the  Physician,  as  the  Vicar  smiled  at  the  picture, 
"but  it  means  health  and  happiness,  and  perhaps 
life  itself." 

"Your  suasion  is  seductive,"  said  Professor 


The  Observations  of 

Maturin,  "but  how  is  one  to  know  precisely 
what  he  needs,  and  when?" 

"Take,  for  illustration,"  resumed  the  Physi 
cian,  "those  moments  when  you  feel  the  need  of 
exercise.  A  little  analysis  of  the  sensation  will 
make  you  aware  of  a  kind  of  hunger  for  activity 
in  some  particular  muscle.  A  little  ingenuity  will 
devise  some  appropriate  exercise,  and  its  moder 
ate  practice  will  both  meet  the  particular  need 
that  was  felt  and  diffuse  a  general  tone  of  well- 
being. 

"Conversely,  a  general  or  a  local  sense  of  well- 
being  will  seem  to  demand  expression  in  action. 
A  little  abandon  at  such  moments  will  suggest 
exercises  that  are  both  pleasant  and  profitable 
to  the  body  and  interesting  and  enjoyable  to  the 
mind.  Similarly,  mental  and  emotional  states  will 
often  suggest  free  and  exuberant  bodily  expres 
sion. 

"Any  thoughtful  man,  moreover,  may  deduce 
from  the  nature  of  his  ordinary  occupations  what 
larger  vital  activities  he  should  have.  Thus,  trunk 
and  chest  exercises  would  complement  your  spe 
cial  functions  as  professional  speakers,  and  your 
sedentary  study  calls  for  supplemental  arm  and 
leg  exercises  in  the  open  air.  Professional  sing 
ers  illustrate  the  successful  development  and 
[ 


Professor  Maturin 

maintenance  of  special  functions  through  related 
and  supplemental  activities. 

"In  short,  if  exercise  is  spontaneous  and  ra 
tional,  qualitative  rather  than  quantitative,  for 
the  nerves  rather  than  for  the  muscles,  it  will  im 
prove  the  efficiency  and  facility  of  one's  habitual 
occupation,  will  establish  a  general  vigor  and  sta 
bility  of  body,  and  maintain  mental  balance  and 
alertness;  and,  I  repeat,  such  varied  and  recre 
ative  activities  will  suggest  themselves  to  any 
thoughtful  person,  although  it  is  wise,  occasion 
ally,  to  secure  professional  approval  or  amend 
ment  of  them.  In  general,  any  moderate  exercise 
that  interests  or  stirs  enthusiasm  is  good.  Games, 
especially,  correct  nervousness  and  banish  self- 
consciousness  through  their  impersonal  aim  or 
cooperative  effort,  and  they  improve  bodily  struc 
ture  and  function  by  the  way.  Bowling,  boxing, 
fencing,  and  billiards  are  good.  Tennis  and  golf 
are  better,  because  they  are  out  of  doors.  Golf  is 
almost  the  best,  because  it  is  interesting,  moder 
ate,  and  available  throughout  life." 

"I  could  never  become  interested  in  any 
game,"  said  Professor  Maturin;  "their  artificial 
rules  are  irksome  to  me,  and  to  acquire  the  skill 
necessary  to  make  them  enjoyable  oppresses  me 
as  a  waste  of  time." 

t 


The  Observations  of 

"Even  so,"  rejoined  the  Physician,  "there  are 
plenty  of  health-giving  pursuits  that  have  also 
some  utility  in  themselves.  Among  such  are  the 
handicrafts  and  gardening;  walking,  riding,  and 
all  sorts  of  excursions;  swimming,  rowing,  and 
sailing.  Swimming,  especially,  is  natural  and  in 
teresting;  it  employs  many  members  harmoni 
ously,  it  quiets  and  invigorates  nerve  action,  and 
gives  strength  and  grace,  self-control  and  confi 
dence.  I  should  prescribe  for  you  both  this  sum 
mer  a  daily  swim,  with  plenty  of  floating  on  a 
quiet  shore,  and  then,  if  you  become  as  refreshed 
as  you  should,  something  more,  like  learning 
to  sail.  What,  by  the  way,  is  your  avoirdupois  ?  " 
Neither  Professor  Maturin  nor  the  Vicar  had 
been  weighed  in  years. 

"  Weight  is  an  important  indication  of  health," 
continued  the  Physician.  "Every  man,  I  think, 
should  have  a  complete  health  examination  and 
record  at  least  once  a  year.  Defects  can  then  be 
promptly  remedied,  and  occupation  and  recrea 
tion  be  properly  adjusted  to  individual  capaci 
ties  or  limitations.  One's  family  and  personal  his 
tory  and  tendency  should  be  considered  in  every 
thing.  More  than  a  third  of  us  have  remediable 
defects  in  sight,  about  a  tenth  in  hearing,  and  so 
many  people  neglect  their  teeth  that  they  cause, 


Professor  Maturin 

Dr.  Osier  says,  more  deterioration  than  alcohol. 
Digestion  has  a  way  of  announcing  its  disturb 
ances,  but  the  heart  and  spine  disorders  that  one- 
tenth  of  us  have  are  usually  allowed  to  spread 
their  deterioration  unheeded;  while  almost  no 
body  considers  the  structure  and  function  of  the 
feet  as  important  as  they  are." 

"I  remember,"  said  the  Vicar  with  a  smile, 
"your  first  prescription  for  me  —  a  looser  hat, 
firmer  shoes,  and  a  belt  instead  of  braces." 

"  But  does  not  such  self-knowledge  make  one 
morbid?"  queried  Professor  Maturin.  "Have  I 
not  heard  of  a  physician  who  had  to  abandon 
practice  because  he  fancied  himself  afflicted  with 
every  disease  that  he  diagnosed?" 

"Surely,"  responded  the  Physician,  "you  refer 
to  Ferguson  —  the  less  we  think  about  our  own 
anatomy  and  physiology  the  better;  but  your 
physician  must  know  them  to  keep  you  in  health, 
as  well  as  to  extricate  you  from  disease.  Know 
ledge  about  sanitation  and  hygiene,  however,  is 
both  intelligible  and  helpful  to  a  practical  belief 
in  personal  and  social  health  and  good  living. 
I  wish  that  every  one  would  preach  as  well  as 
practice  my  favorite  prescriptions  of  less  heat  and 
more  humidity  indoors,  gray-green  wall-papers 
and  furniture  to  fit  the  individual,  vacuum  clean- 


The  Observations  of 

ers  and  patent  filters,  and,  ever,  more  fresh  air. 
Outdoor  air  is  the  most  valuable  therapeutic  that 
we  know,  just  as  it  is  the  cheapest  and  the  most 
neglecled.  Forty  per  cent  of  our  mortality  is  due 
to  neglecl  of  fresh  air. 

"If,  in  fine,  every  aspecl  of  life  were  consid 
ered  first  from  the  point  of  view  of  health;  or  if 
food  and  sleep  and  exercise  and  good  air  were 
put  even  on  a  par  with  other  interests,  we  would 
have  so  much  vitality  that  we  might  practically 
dispense  with  effort  and  enjoy  all  the  profit  and 
pleasure  of  spontaneity.  Instead,  we  so  neglecl: 
the  entire  physical  basis  that  we  allow  a  hurried 
breakfast,  a  heavy  coat,  an  uncomfortable  chair, 
or  a  bad  light  to  spoil  a  whole  day 's  work,  and, 
perhaps,  permanently  to  damage  the  worker. 
Sedentary  students  ignore  the  need  for  activity 
until  interest  and  perception  grow  sluggish,  mem 
ory  dims,  and  minds  that  should  produce  snap 
shots  require  long  time-exposures.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  would  only  practice  a  complete,  instead 
of  a  partial,  economy,  we  should  all  be  twice  as 
efficient  and  happy." 

"You are  surely  right," said  Professor  Maturin 
thoughtfully.  "  Plato  was  called  so  because  of  his 
broad  shoulders,  Xenophon  and  Erasmus  loved 
horses,  and  Ronsard  gardening.  Christopher 

[  128] 


Professor  Maturin 

North  walked  from  London  to  Oxford  after  din 
ner.  Fitzgerald  sailed  half  the  year.  The  Physi 
cian  does  well  to  ledure  us,  dominie.  Let  us  both 
reform,  and  go  in  for  Greek  sanity  and  the  joy 
of  the  age  of  chivalry.  The  times  have  changed 
since  the  Bishop  of  London  was  the  licenser 
for  physicians.  But,"  he  continued,  as  we  rose 
to  go,  "if  the  Vicar  and  I  promise  to  pradice 
your  preachment  this  summer,  what  shall  we  do 
when  we  come  back  to  town?  My  walking  up 
and  down  and  the  Vicar's  riding  evidently  need 
something  more,  by  way  of  paprika." 

"I  hope  eventually  to  convert  you  both  to 
golf,"  smiled  the  Physician,  "but  until  then,  ob 
serve  your  needs  and  invent  exercises  to  meet 
them,  as  I  have  indicated.  Write  me  out  a  list 
of  your  inventions  this  summer;  in  the  autumn 
I  will  go  over  both  you  and  them,  and  perhaps 
suggest  others.  Next  year  I  may  prescribe  moun 
tains  and  motor  cars  for  variety.  Meanwhile,  use 
the  fountain  of  youth  and  prepare  to  live  long 
and  prosper." 

"Good-by,  good-by,"  said  Professor  Maturin. 
"Many  thanks.  You  have  surely  suggested  a 
great  perhaps." 


XIV 

The  Contemporary  Fittion  Company 

"T7XCELLENTLY  well  met,"  said  Pro- 

1  J  fessor  Maturin,  as  we  nearly  collided  on 
a  down-town  sidewalk,  —  "excellently  well  met. 
Come  with  me  to  the  Contemporary  Fiction 
Company." 

"And  what  may  that  be?"  I  inquired. 

"I  do  not  yet  quite  know,"  he  replied,  "but 
with  your  kindly  aid  I  hope  soon  to  learn." 

The  visible  part  of  the  Contemporary  Fiction 
Company  proved  to  be  a  private  corridor  in 
an  office  building,  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen 
rooms  occupied  by  young  men  and  women  and 
typewriters.  Its  master-mind  was  evidently  the 
youthful  but  most  business-like  president,  who 
included  me  in  his  welcome  to  Professor  Maturin, 
and  described  his  company  as  a  semi-mutual 
corporation  engaged  in  the  production  of  fiction 
for  the  trade. 

"Our  staple,"  said  the  president,  "is  short  sto 
ries,  and  in  the  present  state  of  the  market  we  can 
scarcely  keep  even  with  our  orders.  Last  week 
we  delivered  one  dozen  each  of  aviation,  auto 
mobile,  rural  and  suburban,  settlement  and  soci- 

[  13°] 


Professor  Maturin 

ology,  power-boat  and  yachting,  and  two  dozen 
heart-interest  stories.  To-day  we  ship  a  dozen 
near-Mexico  army  and  navies,  a  rush  order.  We 
are  now  at  work  on  a  gross  of  adventure  stories 
for  a  syndicate.  The  magazines  are  delighted  to 
find  that  we  may  be  depended  upon  to  supply 
precisely  what  they  want  just  when  they  want  it, 
and  save  them  the  infinite  annoyance  of  deal 
ing  with  individual  authors;  and  they  also  find 
that  our  rates  for  quantity  save  them  a  good  deal 
of  money.  Therefore  we  are  working  up  to  our 
capacity  of  about  seventy  stories  a  week,  and, 
incidentally,  accumulating  a  tidy  little  surplus. 
Our  system  is  very  simple.  I  and  the  secretary- 
treasurer  control  the  company,  and  draw  up  the 
specifications  for  all  work.  The  sketching,  filling 
in,  and  finishing  are  done  by  heads  of  depart 
ments,  who  hold  smaller  blocks  of  stock,  and  by 
junior  assistants,  whose  salaries  are  a  share  of  the 
profits  —  a  plan  that  insures  their  best  interest 
and  efficiency.  But  I  fear  that  I  bore  you—  "  he 
hesitated. 

Being  assured  of  our  very  great  interest,  the 
president  led  us  to  a  long  table  beside  which 
stood  several  drawers  from  filing-cases  on  a  kind 
of  rolling  truck. "  I  have  been  working  here  on  the 
specifications  for  the  adventure  stories  I  spoke 


The  Observations  of 

of,"  he  continued,  taking  up  a  sheaf  of  printed 
blanks.  "  Here  are  some  beginnings  from  the  Ac 
tion  file.  This  newspaper  clipping  headed  '  Fire 
man  rescues  four'  is  not  uncommon,  but  you  can 
see  the  story  grow  when  you  combine  it  with  this 
one — '  Little  girl  gets  pass  to  feed  fire  horses.'  This 
next  clipping  is  sufficient  in  itself — 'Freighter 
sails  to  Africa  to  barter  beads  for  wild  animals.' 
These  others  —  'Palace  ablaze,'  'Island  sinks,' 
and  'Whole  town  destroyed'  —  are  also  promis 
ing.  Here  is  an  item  from  the  Anecdote  file — 'A 
young  fellow  in  a  supper  restaurant  stares  rudely 
at  a  lady,  and  flicks  his  cigarette-ash  in  the  face 
of  her  remonstrating  escort.  The  latter  picks  up 
the  offender,  shakes  him  like  a  bottle,  and  returns 
him  gently  to  his  chair.  The  escort  happens  to 
be  Sandow.'  In  dull  seasons  we  make  up  adlion 
outlines  from  lives  of  filibusters  and  explorers, 
from  opera  librettos  and  plays,  and,  finally,  from 
nursery  rhymes.  You  are  perhaps  surprised  at  the 
last,  but  they  contain  a  great  deal  of  fundamen 
tal  human  interest. 

"Having  selected  a  number  of  such  Action- 
starts,  as  we  call  them,  we  turn  to  Situation.  Here 
are  some  items  from  that  file  —  'Saw  Flying 
Dutchman,' '  Racing  against  ship  fire,'  'Chinese 
crew  burns  joss-sticks  to  comet.'  Cut  out  the 

[  13*1 


Professor  Maturin 

comet,  and  all  of  these  items  go  with  the  African 
barter  ship.  '  Religious  sed  awaits  the  end  of  the 
world' — that  may  combine  with  'Island  sinks' 
or  'Whole  town  destroyed.'  These  others  furnish 
Situation-starts  —  'Smuggling  by  aeroplane,' 
'  Foreign  officers  caught  spying  on  forts,' '  Colo 
nial  returns  displeased  with  home,' '  Has  custom 
house  search  her  social  rival,'  'Fashionable  wo 
men  see  prize-fight.'  That  last  gives  a  welcome 
variation  from  the  conventional  Monte  Carlo 
gambling-hall  opening.  Many  stories,  of  course, 
we  begin  with  '  Character-starts.'  Some  of  these 
come  from  clippings,  like  the  following  — '  Man 
who  feeds  nuts  to  squirrels,'  '  Dead  laborer  was 
wealthy  sociologist,'  'Former  waiter  becomes 
hotel  manager.'  Members  of  the  staff,  also,  turn 
in  suggestions,  like  the  following — 'The  man 
with  the  wardrobe  trunk,'  'Doubles  in  appear 
ance  but  not  in  character,'  'Hero  and  centre  of 
story  who  never  appears.'  Gradually  we  are  mak 
ing  up  a  canon  of  contemporary  characters  like 
the  famous  stock  characters  of  the  Roman  or  the 
Restoration  comedy.  Butlers  and  sailors,  engi 
neers  and  explorers,  are  staple.  Bosses  and  spies 
are  a  bit  stale,  and  we  are  going  slow  on  commer 
cial  travellers  and  advertising  managers.  But  we 
are  featuring  the  army-woman,  and  we  expect  a 
[  '33] 


The  Observations  of 

good  response  to  our  new  ticket-chopper  series. 
Live  new  characters  are  always  in  demand. 

"The  last  general  specification  is  'Setting  and 
Scene,'  like — 'Oil  fire  fogs  the  river,' and  so  forth. 
We  consider  scene  so  important  that  we  have  in 
every  office  Stevenson's  words,  'Culminating  mo 
ments,  epoch-making  scenes,  that  strike  the  mind's 
eye,  put  the  last  mark  of  truth  upon  a  story.'" 

After  again  hesitating  and  being  again  assured 
of  our  extreme  interest,  the  president  continued: 
"Theme,  character,  action,  incident,  situation, 
and  scene  being  thus  stated  on  the  specification 
blanks,  we  write  in  hints  for  Treatment.  Thus  we 
keep  the  characters  as  simple  as  possible,  trying 
for  individual  examples  of  conventional  types, 
for  definite  persons  that  develop  sharply,  in  small 
groups,  with  strong  contrasts.  The  presentation 
we  elaborate  as  much  as  possible — how  the  char 
acters  affect  one  another  and  display  themselves 
in  deeds  and  words.  We  cut  out  analysis  and 
comment,  but  expand  on  appearance,  manner, 
dress,  and  speech.  Similarly,  in  action  we  make 
the  pulsation  of  interest  primary:  emphasizing 
expectation,  uncertainty,  surprise,  and  quick  so 
lutions.  With  these  various  suggestions  .the  spe 
cifications  go  the  rounds  of  the  heads  of  depart 
ments,  each  of  whom  makes  further  additions  rep- 
[  '34  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

resenting  his  special  field.  When  the  blanks  come 
back  we  finally  approve  or  amend  them,  and  as 
sign  the  stories  for  writing.  Each  junior  assistant 
writes  about  one  story  a  day,  directly  on  the  type 
writer.  When  each  story  is  written  to  the  speci 
fied  length,  the  writer  adds  a  title,  and  the  piece 
goes  the  round  of  the  heads  of  departments  once 
more,  for  approval  or  amendment.  All  details  of 
character,  or  action,  or  setting  that  are  questioned 
are  either  omitted,  or  verified  from  sources  in  the 
office,  or  referred  to  people  outside  who  know. 
A  slight  seasoning  of  humor  is  also  written  in 
wherever  the  characters  would  express  or  display 
it.  We  are,  however,  very  conservative  about 
humor,  since  it  is  impossible  to  know  how  read 
ers  will  take  it.  Irony  and  satire  are  so  generally 
misunderstood  that  we  exclude  them  altogether. 
"  Finally,  our  style  man  supervises  all  dialogue 
and  diction.  He  is  learned  in  every  form  of  liter 
ary  speech  from  Platonic  symposia  and  mediae 
val  disputation,  down  to  mid-Victorian  table  talk 
and  contemporary  slang.  He  sees  that  all  conver 
sation  is  clear  and  consistent.  In  style  he  suffers 
nothing  that  is  not  expressive  of  the  matter  or 
instantly  intelligible  to  the  average  reader,  and 
yet,  under  his  criticism,  the  style  of  our  output 
is  on  a  very  high  level.  He  hates  adjectives,  and 

[  135  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

has  an  eye  even  for  syllables  and  letters,  being 
severe  with  explosives  and  gutturals  and  cordial 
to  liquids  and  labials.  He  has  a  collection  of  fine 
lines  of  verse  to  be  memorized  by  any  assistant 
whose  diction  grows  commonplace.  It  was  he 
who  devised  our  system  of  naming  characters 
from  places,  in  order  to  avoid  the  possibility  of 
annoying  actual  people,  although  he  does  some 
times  invent  names  to  suit  characters — like  Mrs. 
Grandy,or  Miss  Miniver,  or  Monsieur Galantin. 
It  was  he,  also,  who  devised  our  system  of  signing 
each  story  with  a  name  appropriate  to  its  variety, 
so  that  these  signatures  become  trade  names. 
Many  of  our  best  titles,  too,  are  his.  He  named 
'Mary-Go- Round'  and  'Helping  Harrington,' 
'Yellow  Jacket'  and  'The  Golden  Goose/  'The 
Rule  of  Three'  and 'One  Hundred  and  One,'  and 
our  '  Half-portion'  and  'Tales  of  To-day'  series. 
He  becomes  an  officer  of  the  company  shortly, 
investing  some  of  his  large  outside  earnings  from 
naming  apartment  houses,  sleeping-cars,  and  man 
ufactured  articles  like  the  'Fair-price  products.'" 

"But  what  will  be  the  effect  upon  literature?"  I 
wondered,  when  we  were  again  upon  the  street. 
"It  will  have  no  effect  upon  literature,"  said 
Professor  Maturin. 

1 136] 


XV 

The  Old  Dotior 

THE  Old  Dodor  is  dead,"  said  Professor 
Maturin,  holding  up  a  marked  newspaper, 
as  he  led  the  way  to  two  easy  chairs  before  the  fire. 
"  He  was  a  very  individual  man  of  power  and 
integrity,  a  philosopher  as  well  as  a  physician- 
one  of  those  rare  people  who  love  and  tell  the 
naked  truth.  So  far  as  I  know,  he  never  blinked 
a  fad  nor  shirked  a  danger.  I  feel  as  though  I  had 
known  him  all  his  life.  For  the  last  twenty  years 
I  have  seen  him  only  occasionally.  But  I  saw 
much  of  him  when  I  was  a  boy  and  a  young 
fellow  home  from  college,  and  my  family  knew 
him  intimately  before  I  was  born. 

44  As  a  small  boy  on  some  family  errand  I  used 
often  to  wait  in  his  outer  office,  looking  through 
its  window  to  the  street,  or  gazing  at  its  one  en 
graving  of  a  lion  staring  at  the  sun,  or  its  portrait 
of  an  Italian  physician  who  gave  his  life  to  con 
quer  the  plague.  I  always  jumped  when  the  doors 
of  the  inner  office  slid  apart  and  the  old  dodor 
stood,  one  hand  on  each  door,  with  his  large  head 
bent  and  his  gray-blue  eyes  intent  upon  me  from 
their  ambush  of  tumbled  yellowish  hair  and 

[  137  ] 


The  Observations  of 

bristly  beard.  His  rapid  questions,  in  a  rich  but 
husky  voice,  always  upset  me,  and  although  I 
knew  him  to  be  kindliness  itself,  I  always  re 
sponded  shakily  to  his  summons  into  his  sanc 
tum. 

"  I  can  see  him,  vividly,  now,  as  he  sat  there 
writing  prescriptions,  his  tall,  thin  form  bent  over 
his  desk,  his  left  hand,  white  and  shapely,  hold 
ing  the  paper,  his  right,  heavier  and  stained,  trac 
ing  the  words  with  nervous  jerks  and  a  lavish 
expenditure  of  ink.  I  see  at  the  same  time  both 
the  thinning  thatch  of  his  broad  forehead  and 
the  much  creased  silk  skull-cap  that  crowned  his 
wrinkles  later. 

"That  inner  office  was  crowded  with  cases 
that  reached  to  the  ceiling  and  overflowed  with 
books  and  papers  and  glittering  instruments 
that  proclaimed  their  owner  surgeon  as  well  as 
physician.  The  old  doctor  seldom  allowed  his 
servants,  whom  he  chose  and  kept  with  more 
kindliness  than  discretion,  to  enter  it.  And  it 
was  so  full  of  all  sorts  of  things  that  it  seemed 
quite  disorderly,  although  its  owner  could  put  his 
hand  instantly  on  anything  that  he  wanted.  The 
whole  place  was  redolent,  moreover,  of  many 
drugs  and,  I  regret  to  say,  of  horse-blankets. 
Sometimes,  for  exercise,  the  old  dodor  walked 
[  '38  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

on  his  rounds  —  paying  little  heed  to  the  road, 
moving  fast  or  slow,  upright  or  bent,  according 
to  the  thought  that  abstracted  him.  But  mostly 
he  drove  in  a  much-splashed  chaise,  a  handsome, 
well-blooded,  but  ill-groomed  horse,  to  which 
he  was  devoted.  He  was  faithful  all  his  life  to 
such  speedy  but  shaggy  steeds,  just  as  he  was  to 
pepper-and-salt  suits  and  large,  soft  black  hats, 
each  precisely  like  its  predecessor.  At  the  conclu 
sion  of  each  of  my  early  visits  he  would  show 
me,  through  a  window,  some  dog  or  cat  or  bird 
that  he  kept  in  his  back  yard,  for  he  ranked  pets 
among  the  consolations  of  life. 

"  Even  then  I  was  interested  in  him  as  a  per 
sonality,  for  I  had  been  told  how,  as  a  boy,  he 
used  to  carry  a  bag  of  papers  and  do  similar  ser 
vices  for  his  father,  a  stately  and  irritable  old 
judge,  who  was  so  formidable  that  few  people 
could  see  any  fatherly  pride  and  affection  in  him. 
But  as  people  used  to  say  that  the  old  judge 
could  see  in  the  dark,  there  is  no  reason  to  think 
that  he  was  blind  to  his  son's  exceptional  charac 
ter  and  promise,  especially  as  he  sent  him  to  col 
lege,  which  was  then  very  unusual  in  the  town. 
There,  after  a  time,  the  young  fellow  decided  to 
go  in  for  medicine.  His  reasons,  which  he  did  not 
tell  his  father,  were  that  law  was  a  selfish  and  soul- 

c  139  ] 


The  Observations  of 

less  career,  which  contracted,  instead  of  expand 
ing,  the  mind,  but  that  medicine  was  an  oppor 
tunity  for  both  social  service  and,  through  its 
sure  and  universal  truth,  an  apprehension  of  the 
divine  disposition  of  affairs.  This  last  belief  he 
retained  throughout  his  life,  his  spirit  and  im 
agination  never  capitulating  to  the  fatalism  of 
his  profession. 

"The  old  judge  died  while  the  boy  was  in  col 
lege,  leaving  an  estate  composed  chiefly  of  loans 
to  poor  people  who  could  not  pay,  and  rich  men 
who  were  slow  to  do  so.  Still,  there  was  enough, 
with  considerable  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the 
mother,  to  enable  the  young  man  to  complete 
his  college  years  and  go  on  to  a  metropolitan 
university  until  he  earned  his  degree  in  medi 
cine.  With  this,  for  the  time,  most  exceptional 
training,  and  the  approbation  of  his  best  pro 
fessors,  he  returned  to  the  old  town  to  enter 
upon  general  practice,  so  enamored  of  his  pro 
fession  that  he  wondered  why  all  men  were  not 
physicians. 

"He  soon  won  back  the  intimacy  of  a  few 
close  friends,  but  soon  came,  also,  to  be  disap 
pointed  in  the  force  and  genuineness  of  most  of 
his  townspeople.  On  the  other  hand,  his  own  care 
lessness  in  dress  and  indifference  to  small  formal- 


Professor  Maturin 

ities  confirmed  the  general  local  suspicion  of  any 
one  who  had  been  so  long  "away."  He  discon 
certed  people,  also,  by  his  superior  knowledge 
and  directness,  and  his  unfailing  attack  upon 
whatever  savored  ofweakness  or  insincerity.  Con 
sidering  the  family  finances  and  his  own  lack  of 
physical  ruggedness,  he  definitely  put  marriage 
aside  from  his  calculations,  and  when  this,  like 
most  of  his  conclusions,  became  known,  it  fur 
ther  discounted  his  social  availability.  Hence,  his 
life  soon  became  restricted  almost  wholly  to  his 
home,  his  small  circle  of  intimates,  and  his  pro 
fession. 

"At  his  profession  he  continued  to  work  tre 
mendously,  giving  exhaustive  study  to  each  case 
that  came  his  way,  inquiring  into  local  epidem 
ics  and  sanitation,  tirelessly  investigating  new 
ideas,  and  organizing  his  entire  technical  know 
ledge.  He  cheerfully  turned  night  into  day  when 
he  was  needed,  as  he  did  later,  when  I  knew  him 
to  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  visit  a 
seriously  sick  patient  whom  he  had  already  seen 
before  and  after  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dinner,  and 
just  before  going  to  bed.  Birth  and  death  loomed 
so  large  in  his  horizon  that  he  was  far  from  ever 
considering  what  it  was  in  his  place  to  do.  Self- 
forgetful  as  he  was,  however,  he  made  no  senti- 


The  Observations  of 

mental  sacrifices,  but  was  the  first  to  introduce 
trained  nurses  into  the  town,  and  to  urge,  every 
where  and  always,  the  need  for  the  local  hospital 
that  came  only  long  after.  He  had,  even,  some 
dreams  of  preventive  medicine. 

"His  father's  successor  and  the  group  of  able 
lawyers,  bankers,  and  business  men  that  con 
trolled  the  town,  looking  upon  all  of  this  with 
favor,  determined  him,  although  still  young,  to  be 
one  of  themselves,  and  made  him  health  officer 
and  physician  to  the  county  jail  and  poor-farm. 
This  confirmed  his  identification  with  his  work 
until  he  thought  of  it  all  the  time,  riding,  walking, 
at  his  desk,  at  meals,  or  lying  awake  at  night.  In 
this  way,  without  relaxing  his  following  of  the 
latest  professional  knowledge,  he  came  to  believe 
increasingly  in  direct  observation  and  experi 
ence,  and  acquired  a  discriminating  respect  for 
the  traditional  lore  of  old  men  and  women.  Grad 
ually,  more  and  more  people  began  to  see  in  him 
the  true  physician — working  for  work's  sake, 
giving  time  and  labor  to  the  poor  without  re 
ward,  a  tireless  guardian  of  the  lives  entrusted 
to  him,  a  devoted  champion  and  example  of  all 
sanity  and  wholesomeness. 

"Some  of  his  traits,  however,  still  delayed  his 
complete  success.  He  was  often  restless,  some- 

[ 


Professor  Maturin 

times  impatient  in  argument,  and  not  always  con 
siderate  of  his  opponents.  Once  he  even  slapped 
a  recalcitrant  patient.  He  was  deeply  humiliated 
over  that,  and  candid  and  regretful  over  his  other 
defects,  but  he  held  that  one  could  do  but  little 
by  special  effort  to  change  one's  character.  He 
was,  moreover,  too  learned  and  quick-witted  and 
plain-spoken  to  be  a  comfortable  colleague  for 
most  of  his  fellow  practitioners.  They  felt  obliged 
to  look  with  disfavor  on  his  preference  for  simple 
medicaments  and  his  emphasis  on  hygiene,  and 
they  were  publicly  pained  and  privately  severe 
concerning  his  carelessness  of  appearances  and 
his  open  pooh-poohing  of  what  he  called  'the 
hocus-pocus  of  the  profession.' 

"But  after  his  marriage,  which  was  an  incon 
spicuous  one,  the  softer  and  finer  sides  of  his 
nature  took  the  permanent  ascendency,  and  the 
community,  although  it  knew  little  of  his  family 
life,  felt  a  new  gentleness  behind  the  firmness 
of  his  growing  power  of  command.  It  was  then 
that  he  began  the  practice,  which  he  would  have 
scorned  earlier,  of  carrying  in  his  pockets  cheer 
ful  and  humorous  quotations  as  means  for  en 
livening  depressed  patients.  Thus,  slowly  but 
steadily,  through  some  conspicuous  successes 
and  many  sure  ones,  his  reputation  became  more 
[  '43] 


The  Observations  of 

and  more  established,  until,  at  about  forty-five, 
he  was  accepted  by  all  as  unquestionably  the 
chief  physician  of  the  town. 

"His  frankness,  however,  by  no  means  de 
creased  as  his  fame  advanced,  but  people  increas 
ingly  understood  his  eccentricities  as  they  in 
creasingly  honored  his  intellect  and  revered  his 
character.  He  never  hesitated  to  say,  for  example, 
that  his  successes  were  due  more  to  experience 
and  common  sense  than  to  any  scientific  know 
ledge.  This  was,  perhaps,  a  limitation  of  his  loca 
tion  so  far  from  the  centres  of  scholarship,  but 
he  would  have  followed  reason  rather  than  au 
thority  anywhere.  When  the  chief  apothecary 
caught  cold  and  died  from  a  consumption  that 
the  old  dodor  had  long  pronounced  cured,  he  la 
mented  that  this  mistaken  judgment  had  brought 
him  more  reputation  than  any  real  cure  he  had 
ever  accomplished,  and  he  would  sometimes  re 
gretfully  compare  the  tremendous  exertions  that 
had  gone  unrecognized  in  his  earliest  practice 
with  the  late  unreasoning  praise  of  almost  every 
thing  he  did  —  'So  hard  it  is,'  he  would  say, 
'to  establish  unpopular  truth  or  check  popular 
error.' 

"In  spite  of  the  fad  that  his  penetration  so  far 
exceeded  the  ordinary  that  his  wit  often  led  him 


Professor  Maturin 

beyond  knowledge  to  track  nature  to  her  lair,  he 
used  to  grieve  that  so  many  things  were  hidden 
from  him.  He  trusted  much  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
natural  course  of  things,  watching  his  cases  and 
all  their  surrounding  conditions  closely,  sweep 
ing  away  many  of  the  cobwebs  of  current  prac 
tice,  and  emphasizing  chiefly  prescriptions  of  hy 
giene.  Most  diseases,  he  held,  were  either  hope 
less  or  would  cure  themselves  if  people  would  be 
reasonably  careful.  After  his  income  became  ade 
quate  for  his  modest  needs  he  disliked  to  take 
money  for  his  services,  preferring  to  get  whatever 
he  wanted  from  the  local  tradesmen,  and  to  care 
for  them  and  their  families  without  charge  on 
either  side. 

"  Gradually,  without  decreasing  his  labors  — 
I  have  heard  that  he  made  fifty  thousand  pro 
fessional  calls  —  he  became  the  community's  phi 
losopher  and  friend,  as  well  as  its  physician.  This 
was  especially  the  case  after  he  came  home,  a  citi 
zen  of  the  world,  from  a  late  European  journey, 
during  which,  apparently,  he  had  ignored  land 
scape,  architecture,  and  art  in  order  to  converse 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  As  his  ear 
nestness  and  meditation  increased  with  age,  and 
his  utterance,  always  unexpected  and  pithy,  grew 
ever  more  apt  and  forcible,  his  sayings  became 
[  '45  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

widely  quoted  and  accumulated  into  a  body  of 
doclrine. 

"He  was  by  no  means  chiefly  a  critic,  for, 
as  he  said,  there  were  always  more  unfortunate 
men  needing  encouragement  than  fortunate  men 
needing  reproof.  He  maintained  that  a  clean  mind 
and  busy  hands  were  proof  against  any  tribula 
tion,  and  that  happiness  lay  not  in  the  world,  but 
within  the  mind.  'Whoever  would  live  wisely,' 
he  would  say,  '  must  know  what  he  wants,'  and 
'  Good  humor  bears  half  the  ills  of  life.' 

"It  will  be  long,  indeed,  before  his  place  and 
his  friends  forget  'the  Old  Dodor.'" 


XVI 

Breakfasting  with  Portia 

"T)ROBABLY  few  persons  who  are  not  pro- 
JL  fessionally  interested,"  said  Professor  Ma- 
turin,"  realize  how  earnestly  the  schools  of  to-day 
are  endeavoring  not  only  to  conserve  the  proved 
excellences  of  traditional  knowledge,  but  also  to 
provide  new  varieties  of  training  that  are  made 
imperative  by  present-day  conditions.  Hence 
the  subjects  in  the  curriculum  that  appear  fads 
to  the  fathers — nature  study,  manual  training, 
physical  education,  household  science  and  art, 
music,  and  the  fine  arts.  Probably  fewer  yet  know 
that  American  experiment  in  one  of  these  fields, 
especially,  has  been  so  notable  that  the  British 
Board  of  Education  sent  a  special  commission 
to  study  and  to  report  to  Parliament  on  the  teach 
ing  of  domestic  science  or  household  economics 
in  the  United  States. 

"It  was  the  scientific  and  comprehensive  char 
acter  of  this  report,  sent  me  by  a  young  friend, 
that  first  informed  me  of  our  distinction  in  this 
difficult  field.  This  same  young  person  had  pre 
viously  overcome  my  doubt  as  to  the  propriety 
of  making  such  matters  the  subject  of  academic 
[  '47  ] 


The  Observations  of 

study  by  learnedly  quoting  Xenophon's  Socrates, 
to  the  effect  that  'domestic  management  is  the 
name  of  an  art,  as  that  of  healing  or  of  working 
in  brass,  or  of  building.' 

"It  should  be  understood,  to  be  specific,  that 
she,  whom  we  may  call  Portia,  as  a  present  stu 
dent  and  a  prospective  propagandist  of  domestic 
science,  is  about  to  receive  her  degree  from  that 
part  of  one  of  our  metropolitan  universities  which 
conduces  research  in  education  and  trains  teach 
ers  both  of  the  ancient  liberal  arts  and  of  such 
modern  practical  sciences  as  Portia's  own.  After 
several  years  devoted  to  the  usual  college  sub 
jects,  her  attention  is  now  concentrated  upon  ed 
ucational  principles  and  procedures  in  general, 
and  on  the  practice  and  presentation  of  her  chosen 
subject  in  particular.  For  a  considerable  period 
she  has  overflowed  with  such  interesting  infor 
mation  concerning  the  chemistry  and  biology,  the 
production  and  manufacture,  and  the  preparation 
and  the  assimilation  of  foods,  that  I  was  more 
than  delighted  one  day  to  be  invited  to  partake 
of  a  breakfast  prepared  by  her  and  an  associate,  as 
one  of  the  numerous  practical  tests  of  knowledge 
and  efficiency  demanded  by  her  curriculum. 

"On  my  arrival,  the  Princess  Ida  who  presided 
over  this  department  of  the  modern  Athenaeum 

[  148  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

exhibited  the  equipment  for  the  study  and  prac 
tice  of  her  science, — a  technical  library  of  many 
volumes;  elaborate  collections  of  current  reports 
and  monographs;  photographs,  charts,  and  rec 
ords  of  investigations;  especially  equipped  of 
fices  and  lecture  and  conference  rooms,  —  and 
then  presented  me  to  the  half-dozen  instructors 
under  her  direction.  The  laboratories  for  the  bio 
logical  and  chemical  study  of  food  materials  were 
not  unlike  others  that  I  had  seen;  but  those  de 
voted  especially  to  food  preparation  uniquely 
combined  the  facilities  of  an  elaborate  club 
kitchen  with  the  scientific  immaculateness  of  a 
surgery.  The  whole  I  was  told,  by  the  way,  was 
merely  preparatory  to  a  really  perfect  set  of  lab 
oratories  which  were  building. 

"A  tile-topped  laboratory  table,  with  a  skel 
eton  gas-stove  above,  and  various  drawers  and 
cupboards  beneath,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  for  the  demonstrator.  About  this,  arranged 
on  three  sides,  like  a  banquet  table,  were  perhaps 
thirty  similar  but  connected  desks  at  which  the 
students  sat  in  trained-nurse  uniform,  facing  their 
instructor. 

"The  right  hand  drawer  of  each  desk  con 
tained  such  familiar  small  utensils  as  knives, 
forks,  and  spoons,  along  with  certain  others  that 


The  Observations  of 

would  have  seemed  strange  to  our  grandmo 
thers;  all  carefully  listed,  their  condition  and  ar 
rangement  being  subject  to  military  inspection. 
Each  drawer  at  the  left  contained  flours,  sugar, 
spices,  and  condiments  in  laboratory  precision. 
The  cupboard  below  each  desk,  closed  by  a  slid 
ing  shutter,  contained  measuring-cups,  bowls, 
platters,  pans,  and  the  like;  each  equipment  be 
ing  adequate  for  all  ordinary  cooking  processes. 
Around  the  sides  of  the  room  were  stoves  and 
ranges  of  various  designs  heated  by  coal,  char 
coal,  electricity,  steam,  gas,  and  oil,  not  forget 
ting  the  professor's  Aladdin  oven,  or  the  peasant's 
hay-box  cooker. 

"  Here  were  also  immaculate  porcelain  sinks 
where  uniformed  maids  cleaned  the  larger  uten 
sils.  Each  student  kept  her  own  equipment  neat. 
Cases  and  frames  held  special  implements  and 
supplies  drawn  from  a  nearby  stock-room,  or 
from  library  or  files.  Here  and  there  were  bul 
letin  boards  displaying  tables  for  computing 
dietaries,  and  newspaper  clippings  concerning 
the  cost  of  living.  In  one  corner,  as  an  interest 
ing  reminder  of  the  needs  and  possibilities  of 
the  simple  life  in  the  midst  of  this  intentionally 
ideal  equipment,  stood  an  outfit  that  might  be 
made  and  used  in  the  remotest  rural  school— 
[  '50] 


Professor  Maturin 

a  cheap  but  good  oil  stove,  mounted  on  the  zinc- 
covered  top  of  a  packing-box,  that  included 
inexpensive  examples  of  the  fundamental  im 
plements,  and  had  an  upturned  fruit  crate  for 
a  seat.  This  entire  outfit  cost  about  four  dol 
lars. 

"In  one  of  these  laboratories,  students  were 
making  a  comparative,  experimental  study  of 
breads;  halting  occasionally  to  hear  from  the 
demonstrator  and  ponder  the  doclrine  of  the  pro 
gression  of  batters  and  doughs  from  corn  bread, 
through  waffles,  to  twin  mountain  muffins  — 
'which  are  the  beginning  of  cake/  In  another 
room,  fruits  were  being  preserved  separately  and 
in  combinations,  and  in  all  mediums  from  dis 
tilled  water  to  heavy  syrups.  In  a  third,  the  vis 
itor  was  given,  as  specimens  of  material  for  dis 
tribution,  a  mimeographed  recipe;  a  blue-print 
diagram  of  the  conventional  cuts  of  beef,  lamb, 
veal,  and  other  meats;  and  a  sheet  of  small  pho 
tographs  showing  how  typical  cuts  of  good  meat 
should  look. 

"Meanwhile,  Portia  and  Nerissa  had  been 
busy  with  the  breakfast  in  a  separate  kitchen 
and  dining-room,  as  like  as  possible  to  those  in 
ordinary  homes,  yet  planned  with  the  best  wis 
dom  and  taste  of  the  departmental  staff.  To  this 


The  Observations  of 

dining-room  the  pilgrim  was  now  summoned 
by  his  young  friend,  costumed  as  a  maid  and 
appearing  slightly  anxious,  for  she  and  her  ally 
were  also  to  serve  the  meal  that  they  had  pre 
pared.  The  Princess  Ida's  premier  acted  as  host 
ess,  and  a  masculine  professor  and  a  feminine 
instructor  joined  to  make  a  party,  typical,  the 
hostess  announced,  of  sedentary  men  and  of 
moderately  active  women — a  statement  that 
apprised  me  of  the  fad:  that  I  was  considered  not 
merely  as  a  guest,  but  also  as  scientific  data.  The 
simple  goodness  of  the  linen  and  china,  however, 
was  only  that  of  the  discriminating  home,  and 
the  growing  plant  on  the  table  was  there,  I  was 
told,  for  purely  aesthetic  reasons. 

"But  superior  knowledge  and  skill  entered 
with  the  food — stewed  prunes  and  apricots,  as 
tonishing  in  size,  delicious  in  flavor.  Although 
I  am  unaccustomed  to  breakfasting  at  noon, 
and  although  years  of  housekeeping  have  been 
unable  to  blot  out  the  remembrance  of  previous 
prunes,  I  fell  to  with  avidity.  My  memory  of  the 
ensuing  conversation  is  somewhat  mingled  with 
later  talks  with  Portia,  but  then  or  afterward, 
I  learned  that  our  total  consumption  of  this  dish 
was  only  about  four  ounces,  at  a  cost  of  approx 
imately  three  cents  for  four  persons.  A  home,  of 

c  152  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

course,  must  also  count  the  cost  of  all  the  food 
prepared,  but  not  consumed. 

"The  deleclable  quality  of  the  cereal  that  fol 
lowed  was  due,  along  with  its  superior  digestibil 
ity,  I  was  informed,  to  its  first  having  been  briefly 
boiled  in  order  to  open  the  grains,  by  bursting, 
to  the  aclion  of  the  gentler  after-cooking.  The 
cost  of  cereal,  I  was  reminded,  was  small  when 
compared  with  that  of  its  accompaniments.  We 
ate  one  cent's  worth  of  cereal,  but  the  sugar  upon 
it  cost  an  equal  amount,  and  the  cream  five 
times  as  much.  But  the  professor  justified  the 
combination  because  of  the  constituent  elements 
of  the  three;  cream  be  ing  largely  fat,  sugar  largely 
carbon,  cereal  largely  protein. 

44  When  later  I  asked  Portia  what  this  protein 
was,  she  replied  in  a  sort  of  chant,  as  though 
she  were  assisting  at  some  mystic  rite :  4  Next  to 
water,  protein  is  the  largest  ingredient  in  the 
human  body,  forming  about  eighteen  per  cent.  It 
is  similar  to  the  white  of  egg,  the  lean  of  meat, 
the  curd  of  milk,  and  the  gluten  of  wheat.'  This 
and  other  intimations  gave  me  to  understand  that 
protein  is  the  sine  qua  non  of  dietetics. 

44  As  we  enjoyed  the  admirable  omelet  which 
followed — eight  ounces:  one  of  proteid,  one  of 
fat,  one-half  ounce  of  carbo-hydrate;  cost  ten 

[  153] 


The  Observations  of 

cents  for  four — the  professor  informed  me  that 
the  nutritive  value  of  food  is  measured  by  the 
heat  it  gives  off  in  combustion,  the  unit  of  com 
putation  being  the  calorie,  or  the  amount  of 
heat  which  would  raise  one  pound  of  water  four 
degrees  Fahrenheit.  Protein  and  carbo-hydrate 
yield  eighteen  hundred  to  the  pound,  fats  about 
four  thousand.  The  necessary  number  of  calories 
per  day  for  a  professional  man  is  somewhere 
between  the  thirty-two  hundred  averaged  by 
American  and  the  thirty-three  hundred  averaged 
by  Japanese  university  professors.  The  standard 
is  placed  at  twenty-seven  hundred  by  the  spe 
cial  agent  in  charge  of  the  United  States  Depart 
ment  of  Agriculture's  investigations  in  nutrition. 
Hard  muscular  labor  requires  half  as  much 
again.  These  figures  are  the  result  of  measure 
ments,  by  means  of  a  so-called  respiratory  calori 
meter,  of  the  entire  receipts  and  expenditures  of 
the  human  body,  under  varying  conditions  and 
for  periods  of  from  three  to  twelve  days.  These 
and  similar  experiments  are  described  in  bul 
letins  published  and  distributed  without  charge 
by  the  Department  of  Agriculture.  Recent  ex 
periments  by  other  investigators  make  the  ideal 
number  of  calories  considerably  less. 

"Toasted  rolls  and  drip  coffee  ended  our  meal; 
[   '54] 


Professor  Maturin 

the  former  weighed  four  ounces,  two-thirds  carbo 
hydrate,  the  remainder  equally  proteid  and  fat; 
the  ingredients  costing  only  two  cents,  or  as  much 
as  the  butter  used  on  them.  Throughout,  of  course, 
no  estimate  was  made  of  the  cost  of  labor,  an  ele 
ment  which,  together  with  rent  or  interest  on 
equipment,  usually  more  than  equals  the  cost  of 
food.  Fuel  costs,  approximately,  one-tenth  of  this 
amount. 

"  Coffee  was  assigned  no  nutritive  value  in  the 
tabular  statement  of  our  breakfast  that  Portia 
worked  out  and  brought  me  some  days  later.  But 
as  a  mild  stimulant,  it  does  more  good  than  harm, 
very  much  less  harm  than  tea,  which,  when  not 
freshly  made,  contains  chemicals  difficult  of  di 
gestion.  The  coffee  we  four  enjoyed  cost  approx 
imately  three  cents. 

"When  Portia  told  me  that  she  was  also  to 
give  a  luncheon,  with  soup,  entree,  salad,  and  a 
sweet,  I  fear  that  I  was  too  precipitate  in  my 
commendation  of  her  work,  my  prophecies  for 
her  future,  and  in  implying  my  willingness  again 
to  serve  the  cause  of  science.  I  tried  my  best, 
however,  to  be  discreet,  for  I  am  very  anxious 
to  be  invited  again,  and  I  was  rather  pleased  at 
my  adroitness  in  presenting  her  with  an  individ 
ually  bound  volume  of  Ruskin,  with  the  red  silk 
[  '55  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

marker  at  that  page  of  'The  Ethics  of  the  Dust' 
which  says  of  cooking: 

"'It  means  the  knowledge  of  Medea  and  of 
Circe  and  of  Calypso  and  of  Helen  and  of  Re- 
bekah  and  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  It  means  the 
knowledge  of  all  herbs  and  fruits  and  balms  and 
spices;  and  of  all  that  is  healing  and  sweet  in 
fields  and  groves,  and  savory  in  meats;  it  means 
carefulness  and  inventiveness  and  watchfulness 
and  willingness  and  readiness  of  appliance;  it 
means  the  economy  of  your  great-grandmothers 
and  the  science  of  modern  chemists;  it  means 
English  thoroughness  and  French  art  and  Ara 
bian  hospitality;  and  it  means,  in  fine,  that  you 
are  to  be  perfectly  and  always  "ladies" — "loaf- 
givers;"  and,  as  you  are  to  see,  imperatively, 
that  everybody  has  something  pretty  to  put  on, 
so  you  are  to  see,  yet  more  imperatively,  that 
everybody  has  something  nice  to  eat.'" 


[  156] 


XVII 

Summer  Science 

"  T\  Ji  Y  young  friend,  Portia,"  said  Professor 
1VJL  Maturin,  "was  plainly  dubious  when  I 
suggested  making  a  week-end  visit  to  the  scien 
tific  colony  where  she  planned  to  spend  the  sum 
mer  doing  research  work  in  biology.  She  did  not 
believe  that  I  would  be  interested  in  observing 
a  hundred  college  professors  and  students  listen 
ing  to  lectures  and  looking  through  microscopes. 
She  implied  that  occasional  visitors  were  felt,  by 
their  holiday  moods,  somewhat  to  distrad  the 
attention  of  the  serious  workers.  And,  finally, 
she  suggested  that  I  was  perhaps  temperament 
ally  unsuited  to  lead  the  very  simple  life  that 
prevailed,  the  place  being  as  unlike  as  possible 
to  the  typical  summer  resort.  However,  when  I 
pleaded  my  sympathetic  interest  in  all  things 
human,  modestly  called  attention  to  my  reputa 
tion  for  discretion,  and  gently  reminded  her  that 
I  had  proved  an  acceptable  and  even  welcome 
guest  among  the  peace  agitators  of  Lake  Placid, 
the  literati  of  Onteora,  and  the  artists  of  Cornish, 
she  ceased  to  protest.  I  might  do  as  I  liked;  she, 
of  course,  would  be  glad  to  see  me. 
[  '57  ] 


The  Observations  of 

"So  it  was  that  I  found  myself,  one  calm  Sat 
urday  evening,  en  route  for  her  '  Marine  Biologi 
cal  Laboratory.'  During  my  sail  along  the  Sound 
I  found  myself  amusedly  wondering  whether 
Portia's  professors  would  prove  to  be  anything 
like  the  important  mate  who  gave  so  many  more 
and  so  much  louder  orders  than  were  necessary, 
in  warping  the  boat  from  the  dock.  I  was  pleased 
to  find  them  rather  more  like  the  lights  that 
later  appeared  along  the  shore — some  clear  and 
steady,  some  brilliant  but  intermittent,  others  a 
trifle  spectacular  in  coloring,  all  plainly  enjoy 
ing  a  comfortable  sense  of  their  importance  to 
the  community;  but  all  of  them  interesting,  and 
some  performing  services  really  indispensable  to 
human  progress. 

"  The  realization  of  high  thinking  and,  presum 
ably,  plain  living  began  with  a  six  o'clock  land 
ing  next  morning  and  the  writer's  earliest  break 
fast  in  years,  watching,  mean  while,  coming  events 
cast  their  shadows  before  in  the  person  of  a  slen 
der  spectacled  gentleman  in  blue,  who  slowly 
consumed  one  roll  and  a  cup  of  frequently  di 
luted  coffee,  while  he  rapidly  assimilated  the  con 
tents  of  a  thin,  black,  scientific-looking  volume 
with  round  corners  and  red  edges. 

"Within  an  hour,  on  a  smaller  steamer,  we 

[  158  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

sighted  the  red  brick,  yellow  shingle,  and  green 
slate  buildings  of  a  station  of  the  United  States 
Fish  Commission.  It  was  because  of  this  station, 
devoted  to  everything  that  affects  our  fisheries, 
and  of  its  especial  facilities  for  collecting  and 
preserving  marine  life,  that  a  group  of  college 
scientists  established  the  biological  laboratory 
by  its  side,  some  twenty  years  ago.  Their  leader 
was  still  the  director,  and  although  most  of  the 
administrative  details  were  now  delegated  to 
younger  men,  he  was  still  regularly  in  residence, 
in  a  cottage  erected  by  his  appreciative  col 
leagues  to  replace  one  destroyed  by  fire,  and  sur 
rounded  by  hundreds  of  carefully  reared  pigeons, 
which  for  years  he  had  made  the  basis  of  minute 
studies  in  heredity,  with  the  aid  of  two  Japanese 
artists,  who  painstakingly  recorded  the  contour 
and  coloring  of  every  peculiar  bird. 

"  The  slow  and  careful  entrance  of  the  steamer 
into  the  landlocked  harbor,  through  passages  so 
tortuous  as  to  make  a  local  pilot  often  necessary, 
indicated  the  peculiar  geographical  character  of 
the  locality.  So  great  has  been  the  sea's  erosion 
that  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  rocky  shore 
line  most  resembled  the  margin  of  a  cake  at 
which  youthful  teeth  had  been  at  work,  or  the 
end  of  a  flag  whipped  into  tatters  by  the  wind. 

[  159  ] 


The  Observations  of 

It  is  this  intricate  character  of  the  region  that 
makes  it  the  congenial  home  of  many  sea  crea 
tures  elsewhere  obtainable  only  with  difficulty. 

"  Portia  met  me  at  the  pier,  explaining  her 
somewhat  tempered  summer  bloom  by  the  facl: 
that  she  was  spending  the  sunniest  hours  of 
the  day  indoors  in  the  laboratory.  She  conducted 
me  through  a  typical,  old-time  New  England 
village  of  perhaps  five  hundred  inhabitants, 
through  streets  almost  as  devious  as  the  water 
ways,  and  similarly  appropriated  by  science. 
Next  to  the  village  church,  which  displayed  the 
usual  placard  that  the  ladies  of  the  congregation 
were  about  to  hold  a  fair  where  refreshments  and 
a  large  assortment  of  aprons  might  be  had,  the 
village  store  made  the  unusual  announcement 
that  pure  paraffin  and  proof  alcohol  were  always 
on  hand,  and  that  microscopes  with  all  attach 
ments  might  be  ordered.  This  emporium  was 
even  the  subject  of  a  biological  joke,  which  Portia 
kindly  explained  to  me:  'Why  was  Portrope's 
shop  like  an  amoeba?'  'Because  it  was  a  single 
cell  with  all  the  functions. '  This  comforted  me 
with  the  feeling  that  even  if  the  scientists  did 
take  themselves  seriously,  they  yet  preserved  the 
saving  grace  of  humor. 

"I  was  led  to  the  most  remarkable  lodgings 

1 60 


Professor  Maturin 

that  I  have  ever  occupied,  kept  by  a  publisher's 
reader,  who  had  elected  to  spend  her  summer  in 
this  way  for  the  sake  of  variety.  I  am  convinced 
that  she  got  it,  or  at  any  rate,  that  she  gave  it. 
Her  furnishings  were  of  the  simplest,  and  the 
strangest,  having  been  leased  from  the  amoeba 
at  ten  per  cent  of  their  cost  for  each  month  of 
use  —  an  arrangement  which,  like  the  furnish 
ings,  would  scarcely  have  been  acceptable  to  any 
but  an  imagination  that  had  been  subjected  to 
the  severest  strains. 

"The  roof  also  leaked,  but  in  such  a  desultory 
fashion  that  it  was  about  the  only  thing  in  the 
place  that  impressed  me  as  free  from  the  influence 
of  scientific  efficiency.  But  the  house  was  directly 
on  the  harbor,  my  room  overlooking  that  and  the 
laboratory,  which  occupied  a  compound  next 
to  the  commission.  Portia  departing  to  finish  a 
drawing  before  the  bathing  hour,  I  was  left  to 
observe  with  interest,  at  a  window  apposite,  an 
assiduous  young  man  intently  bent  over  his  work, 
which,  Portia  informed  me  later,  was  a  study  of 
the  coagulation  of  lobster's  blood.  Subsequent 
observation  of  a  few  of  his  neighbors  convinced 
me  that  at  least  some  of  the  investigators  were 
not  unacquainted  with  academic  leisure.  Down 
by  the  shore  an  officer  of  our  regular  army  nurses 
[  '61  ] 


The  Observations  of 

was  living  in  a  specimen  hospital  tent,  for  the 
purpose  of  testing  the  capabilities  of  its  construc 
tion,  texture,  and  color  for  service  in  the  field. 

"The  taste  of  the  publisher's  reader  was  equal 
if  not  superior  to  her  imagination.  If  the  house 
reminded  me  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  re 
ceiving  many  strange  things,  the  food  was  proof 
that  her  standard  of  acceptance  was  very  high. 
Steamed  clams,  real  chicken,  and  delicious  vege 
tables,  where  they  must  have  been  by  no  means 
easy  to  procure;  lobster  in  a  chafing-dish, fruit  sher 
bet,  and  thoroughly  sophisticated  coffee,  formed 
our  Sunday  dinner.  The  conversation  was  no  less 
interesting,  my  opposite  at  table  being  a  distin 
guished  biological  painter.  It  had  never  previ 
ously  occurred  to  me  that  of  course  there  must 
be  such.  Usually  busied  in  evoking  the  outward 
form  and  semblance  of  prehistoric  creatures  from 
their  remains  in  museums,  he  was  here  for  semi- 
recreation,  painting  marine  life  from  the  aquaria 
of  the  Fish  Commission.  I  was  later  presented 
to  the  objecl:  of  his  current  admiration,  a  creature 
with  the  anatomy  of  a  frying-pan  and  the  man 
ners  of  the  Bowery,  popularly  known  as  a  'sting 
ray'  because  of  a  dangerous  weapon  in  its  tail. 
His  next  sitter  was  to  be  a  rare  specimen  of  para 
site  fish,  which,  although  nearly  two  feet  long,  was 

162    ' 


Professor  Maturin 

deriving  all  its  locomotion  about  the  tank  from 
a  much-embarrassed  but  helpless  shark,  to  the 
under  side  of  which  it  was  complacently  attached 
by  means  of  a  sudion  arrangement  on  the  top 
of  its  head. 

"  Portia,  like  most  of  the  other  students,  had 
lodgings  in  a  private  house  in  the  village,  there 
being  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  cottages  ex 
clusively  devoted  to  summer  guests.  She  took 
her  meals  at  the  laboratory  mess,  where  the  plain 
but  adequate  food  was  flavored  with  abundant 
talk  of  distribution,  variation,  regeneration,  mu 
tation,  and  the  dynamics  of  protoplasm.  Having 
once  fixed  these  catchwords  in  mind,  I  rapidly 
acquired  the  local  language,  and  could  shortly 
ask  simple  questions  without  difficulty. 

"  In  addition  to  the  long,  low  mess  hall,  the 
laboratory  occupied  three  other  square,  two-story 
buildings  of  gray  shingle,  set  off  by  dark  green 
paint.  The  largest,  with  several  wings,  contained 
class-rooms  and  laboratories  for  two  of  the  three 
regular  courses  of  instruction  in  physiology,  mor 
phology,  and  embryology.  On  the  upper  floor 
was  an  excellent  technical  library  with  Agassiz's 
motto,  'Study  nature,  not  books.'  Around  the 
sides  of  both  floors  and  in  the  other  buildings 
were  individual  working  rooms,  in  which  the 

[  -63  ] 


The  Observations  of 

more  advanced  investigators  sentenced  them 
selves  to  solitary  confinement  during  the  major 
part  of  each  day.  These  rooms  and  the  students' 
tables  in  the  several  larger  rooms  were  at  the 
disposal  of  the  colleges  from  whose  annual  con 
tributions  most  of  the  working  funds  of  the  lab 
oratory  are  derived. 

"  During  the  six  weeks  of  regular  class  instruc 
tion  in  July  and  August,  there  are  two  or  more 
public  evening  lectures  each  week,  in  which  visit 
ing  scholars  present  the  more  generally  interesting 
aspects  of  their  special  fields  of  study.  I  did  not 
share  Portia's  enthusiastic  anticipation  of  the  com 
ing  of  a  lecturer  who  had  just  returned  from  hunt 
ing  a  particular  variety  of  snail  in  the  South  Sea 
Islands,  but  the  lecture  changed  my  apprehen 
sion  to  appreciation,  and,  finally,  to  admiration. 

"Other  lectures  dealt  quite  as  attractively  with 
the  development  of  habits  among  birds,  the  de 
tection  of  the  minute  organisms  that  cause  many 
human  diseases,  the  study  of  heredity  in  families 
of  rabbits  and  guinea-pigs,  and  the  creation  of 
new  forms  of  plant  life.  Every  considerable  in 
vestigation  of  which  I  heard  had  definite  relation 
to  some  generalization  that  was  capable  of  prac 
tical  application  —  a  striking  contrast  to  similar 
work  in  certain  other  sciences. 


Professor  Maturin 

"  Portia's  problem,  which  I  was  interested  to 
find  important  enough  to  deserve  a  private  room, 
was  the  regeneration  of  planarians,  minute  ma 
rine  parasites  which  have  the  power,  when  di 
vided,  of  developing  new  heads  or  tails.  Her 
endeavor  was,  by  means  of  a  microscope,  mag 
nifying  some  twelve  hundred  times,  to  observe 
and  trace  the  earliest  differentiation  of  the  cells 
that  were  to  form  the  several  new  organs.  Of 
the  hundred  or  more  students  in  residence,  about 
half  of  them  young  women,  perhaps  one-half 
were  carrying  on  similar  studies,  of  varying  de 
grees  of  difficulty.  Among  these  were  college 
professors  and  instructors  who  were  conducting 
researches  that  had  extended  over  many  years. 
The  volumes  of  the  laboratory's  monthly  publi 
cation,  containing  records  of  the  processes  and 
results  of  such  work,  made  more  than  ordinarily 
interesting  reading,  even  for  the  layman. 

"The  recreations  of  the  place  were  as  inter 
esting  as  its  labors.  The  social  life  was  that  of  a 
highly  selected  college  community,  where  every 
body  knows  everybody  else  and  his  wife,  and 
finds  them  well  worth  knowing;  and  everywhere, 
always,  there  rose  and  fell  a  tide  of  excellent 
talk. 

"In  short,  I  had  so  good  a  time  that  I  visited 


The  Observations  of 

Portia  not  three  days,  but  ten,  and  then  departed 
with  a  regret  that  was  not  dispelled  even  when 
she  formally  approved  my  conduct  by  inviting 
me  to  come  again.  She  was  so  smiling  and  sym 
pathetic  at  the  pier  that  I  found  myself  asking 
a  question  that  had  repeatedly  suggested  itself, 
but  which  had  as  often  been  spontaneously  re 
pressed. 

"What,  if  any,  was  the  definite  or  practical 
value  of  her  summer's  work,  as  compared  with 
that  which  she  had  previously  been  doing  in  the 
field  of  domestic  science4?  That,  she  replied,  was 
for  me  to  determine.  Perhaps,  when  I  thought  it 
all  over,  some  such  bearing  would  occur  to  me. 
I  was  afraid  that  she  was  going  to  be  disap 
pointed  in  me,  after  all,  and  hastened  to  change 
the  subject  by  inquiring  why,  since  the  afternoon 
was  so  fine,  she  was  wearing  her  long  oilskin  coat 
and  sou'wester  hat.  It  was  certainly  a  becoming 
costume,  although  it  too  much  concealed  her 
trim  figure — her  color  was  now  all  that  could 
be  desired. 

" '  Oh,  I  don't  work  in  the  laboratory  all  of  the 
time,'  she  answered.  'I — that  is,  we  —  are  going 
sailing.'  Just  at  that  moment  the  importunate 
mate's  'All  aboard'  precluded  further  leave-tak 
ing.  But  as  I  watched  her  from  the  deck  of  the 
[  '66  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

receding  steamer,  after  a  farewell  wave  of  the 
hand,  turn  expedantly  toward  a  jaunty  sail-boat 
that  was  skimming  in  the  diredion  of  the  pier 
under  the  guidance  of  one  of  the  younger  pro 
fessors,  I  began  to  have  glimmerings  of  at  least 
one  answer  to  my  question." 


w 


XVIII 

Measuring  the  Mind 

HEN  Professor  Maturin  discovered  that 
his  young  friend  Portia  had  become  a  stu 
dent  of  psychology,  he  expressed  no  surprise, 
having  learned  where  she  was  concerned  to 
expect  the  unexpected.  But  he  did  voice  his 
impression  that  the  science  was  one  that  had, 
as  yet,  but  an  imperfect  appreciation  of  the  fem 
inine  mind.  "  Precisely,"  replied  Portia;  "listen 
to  this,"  and  opening  one  of  her  note-books,  she 
read:  "Our  modern  knowledge  of  woman  rep 
resents  her  as  primitive,  conservative,  nearer  the 
savage  than  man.  She  is  lighter,  weaker,  slower, 
less  dexterous,  less  accurate,  less  individual.  She 
is  more  nervous,  more  emotional,  more  supersti 
tious,  and  more  often  insane.  In  short,  her  lack 
of  accomplishment  is  due  not  to  subjection,  but 
to  fundamental  inferiority." 

"  Now  that,"  concluded  Portia,  "was  undoubt 
edly  written  by  a  man,  and  is  therefore  probably 
as  mistaken  as  what  men  have  usually  written 
about  women  in  novels  and  poems.  At  any  rate, 
I  intend  to  see  for  myself."  Professor  Maturin 
immediately  commended  her  intention,  and  sub- 
[  '68  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

sequently  followed  her  progress  with  an  interest 
which,  after  a  time,  she  rewarded  by  an  invita 
tion  to  visit  the  laboratory  where  she  was  work 
ing.  It  was  not  long,  by  the  way,  before  she  dis 
covered  that,  although  the  particular  statements 
of  the  German  scientist  she  had  quoted  were  in 
the  main  correct,  an  obsession  of  the  Kaiser's 
"church,  children,  cooking,  and  clothes"  doc 
trine  had  made  him  ignore  equally  striking  fads 
on  the  other  side.  Her  other  discoveries  shall  be 
given  in  Professor  Maturin's  own  words.  "As  we 
started  on  our  expedition  she  read  me  a  counter 
quotation,  from  an  even  more  famous  authority: 
'Woman  is  more  observant,  more  assimilative, 
more  sympathetic,  more  intuitional,  more  aes 
thetic,  and  more  moral  than  man.  She  is  more 
typical  of  the  race  and  nearer  the  superman  of 
the  future.  Man  in  comparison  is  senile,  if  not 
decadent.' 

"My  burst  of  admiration  for  a  science  that 
could  solve  the  same  problem  in  such  opposite 
ways,  was  checked  by  Portia's  remarking  that 
she  attributed  scarcely  more  importance  to  the 
latter  than  to  the  former  statement.  She  was 
quite  in  accord  with  the  directors  of  her  labora 
tory,  in  considering  much  of  what  calls  itself 
psychology  to  be  based  on  philosophic  deduction 


The  Observations  of 

or  popular  generalization,  rather  than  on  scien 
tific  observation  and  experiment.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  scientific  psychology,  as  a  development  of 
the  present  generation,  was  just  beginning  to  find 
its  accumulated  facts  sufficient  for  any  general 
ization.  This  statement  gave  me  a  sense  of  en 
tering  a  theatre  just  as  the  curtain  was  going  up. 

"After  a  glimpse  at  the  general  arrangement 
of  the  department's  score  or  more  of  rooms,  Por 
tia  proceeded  to  lead  me  systematically  through 
the  suite  devoted  to  physiological  psychology. 
Concerning  the  sense  of  smell,  little  seemed  to 
be  known,  except  that  it  is  sufficiently  sensitive 
to  detect  a  thimbleful  of  odorous  gas  diffused 
through  a  very  large  room.  Not  much  more  is 
known  concerning  taste,  except  that  it  can  be 
stimulated  electrically,  as  smell  cannot  be,  and 
that  sweet  and  sour  are  distinguished  chiefly  by 
the  tip  of  the  tongue;  bitter  and  salt  by  the  back. 

"But  discoveries  in  physics  have  made  pos 
sible  extensive  studies  of  sound  sensation.  The 
average  ear  has  a  compass  for  sounds  of  from 
twenty-eight  vibrations  a  second  to  twenty-two 
thousand,  and  can  detect  differences  caused  by  a 
variation  of  sixty.  The  figures  for  sight  are  even 
more  surprising.  The  sensation  of  red  is  caused  by 
rays  of  light  which  vibrate  from  four  hundred  and 


Professor  Maturin 

forty  to  four  hundred  and  seventy  billion  times  a 
second.  At  this  stage  of  my  observations,  I  aban 
doned  my  memory  for  a  pencil  and  note-book. 
Increasingly  rapid  vibrations  produce  the  other 
colors,  up  to  violet,  which  is  caused  by  about 
seven  hundred  and  twenty-two  billions. 

"  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  sense 
of  sight  displays  considerable  inertia.  It  takes 
a  perceptible  time  for  the  eye  to  see  what  is 
before  it,  and  its  images  persist  after  the  object  is 
removed  or  the  eye  is  closed.  Such  after-images 
are  at  times  like  the  object,  but  show  its  comple 
mentary  color  if  the  sense  is  fatigued.  This  last 
fact  is  said  to  be  taken  advantage  of  by  depart 
ment-store  salesmen,  who  change  fabrics  of  which 
their  customers  are  wearied  for  others  comple 
mentary  in  color.  Pressure  and  temperature  are 
felt  only  at  certain  spots  on  the  body,  very  close 
together,  but  quite  unevenly  distributed.  The 
forehead  and  the  back,  for  example,  are  more  sen 
sitive  to  cold  than  to  heat.  Some  spots  are  sensi 
tive  to  heat  or  cold  alone,  seeming  to  indicate 
separate  sets  of  nerves  for  these  sensations. 

"The  lower  limits  of  any  sensation  may  be 
determined  by  gradually  diminishing  a  stimu 
lus  until  its  effect  is  not  noted,  or  by  increasing 
a  smaller  stimulus  until  a  sensation  is  produced. 
[  '7'  ] 


The  Observations  of 

Delicacy  of  perception  is  measured  by  noting  the 
smallest  increase  or  decrease  of  stimulus  needed 
to  produce  a  change  in  sensation.  Some  persons 
can  distinguish,  by  touch,  a  difference  of  half  an 
ounce  in  a  pound  weight.  Measured  by  the  dis 
tance  apart  at  which  the  points  of  a  divider  can 
be  separately  felt,  the  cheek  is  but  half  as  sensi 
tive  as  the  finger,  the  finger  but  half  as  sensitive 
as  the  tongue.  Hence,  it  is  probably  in  order  to 
touch  as  well  as  to  taste  that  infants  carry  every 
thing  to  the  mouth.  The  direction  of  sounds  is 
determined  by  the  difference  in  the  relative  in 
tensity  of  the  sensation  in  the  two  ears;  the  posi 
tion  of  the  body,  when  the  eyes  are  closed,  is 
somehow  felt  by  means  of  semi-circular  canals 
in  the  ear.  Measured  by  moving  a  candle  away 
from  an  object  until  its  shadow  seems  the  same 
as  that  produced  by  a  fixed  candle,  or  by  rotat 
ing  disks  bearing  black  lines  on  white,  the  eye 
can  distinguish  a  difference  of  one  one-hundredth 
in  a  quantity  of  light.  Judging  distance  by  sight 
is  said  to  involve  at  least  ten  separate  operations 
of  perception  and  judgment,  vision  being  really 
mental  interpretation,  based  on  association  and 
memory  as  well  as  on  sensation.  Hence,  errors 
in  visual  perception  are  so  common  that  paint 
ers,  sculptors,  and  architects  always  take  them 

c 


Professor  Maturin 

into  account.  Estimates  of  distance  with  one  eye 
alone  are  usually  inaccurate;  vertical  seem  longer 
than  horizontal  distances.  The  size  of  small 
objects  and  the  speed  of  larger  ones  are  usu 
ally  underestimated;  the  speed  of  small  bodies 
and  the  size  of  larger  ones,  exaggerated.  Yet,  in 
judgment  of  space,  sight  is  more  accurate  than 
touch. 

"  The  most  interesting  rooms  of  this  series 
were  those  devoted  to  measuring  the  time  of  ner 
vous  and  mental  processes,  by  means  of  compli 
cated  and  delicate  machinery,  electrical  for  the 
most  part,  and  arranged  so  as  to  cause  certain 
sense  impressions,  and  to  record  the  time  between 
these  and  a  response  in  some  form  of  motion. 
Each  experiment  is  repeated  many  times,  with 
the  same  person,  and  with  many  persons,  in  order 
to  eliminate  errors  due  to  inertia  of  after-impres 
sions,  to  expectation  or  practice,  to  surprise  or 
fatigue.  In  even  so  simple  a  procedure  as  press 
ing  an  electric  button  with  one  hand  on  feeling 
a  touch  on  the  other,  nearly  a  dozen  distinct  ele 
ments  were  considered — stimulus  of  the  sense 
organ,  conduction  through  nerve  and  through 
brain,  reception  and  transformation  of  the  im 
pulse,  reconduction  through  brain  and  through 
nerve,  and,  finally,  muscular  action.  The  speed 

[  173] 


The  Observations  of 

of  nerve  transmission  being  known  as  from  one 
hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred  feet  a  second, 
it  is  possible  to  deduce  the  approximate  rate  of 
mental  reception  and  action.  It  is  not  flattering 
to  learn  that  electricity  is  about  one  thousand 
times  as  quick.  The  total  reaction  from  hand  to 
hand  occupies  from  one-tenth  to  one-fifth  of  a 
second;  the  ear  has  approximately  the  same  rate 
of  action;  the  eye  is  about  one-fourth  slower.  The 
mind's  interpretation  of  sensation  averages  about 
one-twenty-fifth  of  a  second ;  its  determination 
to  act,  a  shade  less. 

"  It  takes  less  time  to  perceive  color  and  form 
than  letters  or  words,  and  all  of  these  differ 
among  themselves.  The  number  three  seems  a 
sort  of  natural  unit,  it  being  almost  as  easy  to 
perceive  three  objects  at  once,  as  one;  it  is  much 
harder  to  perceive  four.  The  imaginative  repro 
duction  of  an  image  requires  about  one-fourth  of 
a  second;  the  association  of  abstract  ideas,  about 
three  times  as  long — all  according  to  the  previ 
ous  alteration  or  multiplication  of  the  six  hun 
dred  million  or  more  brain  cells  which  are  the 
average  individual's  stock  in  trade. 

"The  numerical  records  of  all  such  experi 
ments  are  transformed  graphically  into  diagrams, 
whose  bases  represent  the  number  of  experi- 
[  '74] 


Professor  Maturin 

ments,  and  whose  heights  represent  the  varying 
accomplishment.  Such  surfaces  of  frequency,  as 
they  are  called,  show  at  a  glance  the  entire  per 
formance  of  the  trait  studied,  and  are  therefore 
much  superior  to  the  ordinary  method  of  aver 
ages.  The  intellectual  average  of  a  town  that 
contained  a  university  and  an  insane  asylum 
would  be  about  that  of  a  town  that  had  neither. 
A  diagram,  however,  would  show  not  only  the 
average,  but  the  much  more  significant  distri 
bution.  Attention  is  also  paid  to  the  'mode,'  or 
measure  that  occurs  most  frequently,  and  to  the 
'  median,'  or  record  above  and  below  which  half 
of  the  measurements  lie.  Then,  by  calculating 
the  average  deviation  from  the  average,  and  cer 
tain  similar  ratios,  it  is  possible  finally  to  obtain 
a  small  group  of  figures  which  contain  the  es 
sence  of  the  entire  distribution.  This,  in  turn, 
makes  possible  the  measurement  and  the  com 
parison  not  only  of  particular  mental  functions, 
but  of  the  characteristic  ability  of  individuals 
and  of  groups.  In  this  way,  for  example,  it  has 
been  found  that  mental  activities  vary  in  much 
the  same  manner  as  do  the  functions  of  most  of 
the  natural  organs  that  have  been  measured  by 
biologists,  anthropologists,  and  physicians.  In 
general,  two-thirds  of  all  mental  performances 
[  '75  ] 


The  Observations  of 

lie  within  the  middle  third  of  ability.  Average 
efficiency  is  very  near  to  the  most  common, 
and  both  lie  about  half-way  between  the  two 
extremes. 

"Perhaps  the  most  striking  result  of  such 
study  is  the  discovery,  by  means  of  a  large 
number  of  measurements,  that  mental  functions 
are  much  more  independent  of  one  another  than 
is  usually  thought,  and  that  a  change  in  one 
function  alters  another  only  so  far  as  the  two 
have  identical  elements.  There  is,  for  example, 
only  a  slight  correlation  between  remembering 
numbers  and  remembering  words,  and  no  per 
ceptible  relation  between  perception  of  time  and 
perception  of  rhythm,  or  between  sense  percep 
tion  in  general  and  memory.  Judged  from  the 
grades  given  by  instructors  to  several  thousand 
school  and  college  students,  the  natural  sciences 
are  closer  to  Latin,  in  the  kind  of  ability  they 
require,  than  they  are  to  mathematics.  Algebra 
and  geometry  are  almost  as  different  from  one 
another  as  mathematics  in  general  are  from  non- 
mathematical  subjects. 

"Such  fads  certainly  seemed  to  warrant  the 
conclusions  of  the  professor  to  whose  guidance 
Portia  now  consigned  me :  '  The  mind  is  not  a 
functional  unit,  nor  even  a  collection  of  general 

[  '76  j 


Professor  Maturin 

faculties  which  work  irrespective  of  particular 
material.  It  is  rather  a  multitude  of  separate 
functions,  each  closely  related  to  only  a  few  of 
the  others,  and  to  most  in  so  slight  a  degree  as 
to  elude  measurement.  It  is  impossible  to  infer 
success  in  one  field  from  success  in  another,  or 
success  in  an  entire  subject  from  success  in  a 
part  of  it.  To  estimate  the  general  ability  of  any 
individual  requires  the  separate  measurement  of 
traits  sufficiently  numerous  and  well-chosen  to 
represent  fairly  all  of  his  capacities.  By  means 
of  such  specific  measurements,  however,  we  can 
determine  pretty  definitely  an  individual's  capa 
bility  for  any  of  the  highly  specialized  activities, 
such  as  music  or  painting.' 

"The  rooms  devoted  to  the  study  of  genetic 
psychology,  or  mental  development,  contained 
much  interesting  data  concerning  the  mental  life 
of  children,  collected  usually  through  very  sim 
ple  tests,  such  as  estimating  the  size  of  geomet 
rical  figures,  the  length  of  lines,  or  the  duration 
of  sounds;  arranging  in  graduation  a  series  of 
weights,  or  the  shades  of  a  color;  or  recalling 
series  of  related  or  unrelated  letters  or  words. 
While  the  material  thus  obtained  seems  to  in 
dicate  the  existence  of  certain  general  laws  of 
mental  growth,  it  is  not  yet  considered  sum*- 
[  '77  ] 


The  Observations  of 

cient  to  establish  them.  The  implications  are  that 
the  masculine  mind  is  slightly  more  variable, 
the  feminine  slightly  better  in  perception;  and 
that  the  relation  between  early  and  later  ability 
is  one  not  of  antagonism,  but  of  resemblance. 

"  I  wished  that  I  might  linger  over  the  studies 
of  rapidity  of  movement,  tested  by  tapping;  and 
of  precision,  tested  by  drawing  lines  in  a  narrow, 
intricate  path,  or  by  tapping  in  a  small  circle 
without  touching  the  sides;  and  I  would  gladly 
have  spent  a  day  examining  the  ingenious  con 
trivances  for  recording  and  measuring  the  atten 
tion  demanded  and  the  emotions  aroused  by  dif 
ferent  sorts  of  reading.  But  our  time  was  growing 
so  short  that  I  was  hurried  on,  after  only  a  glimpse 
at  a  mass  of  material  that  would  have  delighted 
or  distressed — I  had  not  time  to  learn  which — 
the  heart  of  a  spelling  reformer — the  records  of 
the  spelling  of  thirty-three  thousand  children!  In 
this  connection  the  professor  remarked  that  his 
own  experiments  had  convinced  him  that  good 
spelling  depended  not  on  memory  or  on  observa 
tion  in  general,  but  upon  a  certain  specific  ability 
to  notice  small  differences  in  words,  by  means 
of  sight,  hearing,  or,  in  the  case  of  the  blind, 
through  touch. 

"In  the  next,  so-called  'heredity  room'  were 

t  178] 


Professor  Maturin 

records  showing  that  children  of  the  same  parents 
are  slightly  more  like  one  another  than  they  are 
like  the  average,  in  height,  color  of  eyes  and  hair, 
and  in  all  the  mental  traits  that  have  been  studied 
in  this  connection.  The  physical  traits  of  parents 
tend  to  alternate,  their  mental  traits  to  blend, 
among  their  children.  Eminent  men  are  almost 
always  found  to  have  near  relatives  of  eminence. 
Family  resemblances  are  most  marked  in  traits, 
like  musical  ability,  that  are  least  affeded  by  en 
vironment.  Here,  too,  were  the  life  histories  of 
many  twins,  showing  that  those  closely  alike  at 
birth  and  in  early  rearing  usually  remained  so  in 
spite  of  later  changes  in  environment;  and  that 
those  unlike  at  birth  remained  so  in  spite  of  iden 
tity  of  nurture.  From  such  and  similar  fads  the 
department  drew  the  conclusions  that  nature  pre 
dominates  greatly  over  nurture,  that  inheritance 
is  specialized  rather  than  general,  and  from  the 
original  nature  of  the  parents  rather  than  from 
acquired  traits. 

"Individuals  who  are  subjeded  to  the  influ 
ence  of  a  particular  environment  are  usually  so 
much  more  influenced  by  the  forces  that  seled 
them  for  that  environment,  that  accurate  know 
ledge  in  this  field  is  obtainable  only  with  diffi 
culty.  The  fad,  for  example,  that  most  Congress- 

[  179] 


The  Observations  of 

men  are  college  graduates  is  probably  due  not  so 
much  to  their  education  as  to  their  early  giving 
evidence  of  ability  that  demanded  such  train 
ing.  In  the  words  of  the  professor:  'The  fador  of 
selection  is  commonly  neglected,  the  influence 
of  environment  commonly  overestimated.  En 
vironment  does  not  create,  but  merely  seleds  and 
stimulates  natural  abilities.  About  all  that  educa 
tion  can  do  is  to  supply  facilities  for  and  remove 
obstacles  to  the  growth  of  the  brain,  encourage 
desirable  activities  by  making  them  pleasurable, 
and  inhibit  their  opposites  by  making  them  un 
comfortable.  Mental  hygiene,  opportunity,  and 
incentive  are  the  foundations  of  the  teacher's 
Blackstone.' 

"  I  was  prepared  to  be  impressed  most  of  all 
by  what  Portia  called  the  'human-nature  room,5 
for  here  were  printed  records  of  many  studies 
based  on  answers  to  widely  circulated  'question 
naires.'  From  one  set  it  was  deduced  that  half  of 
us  have  favorite  sounds,  open  vowels  and  liquid 
consonants  leading;  one-fourth  are  fond  of  par 
ticular  words,  'murmur'  being  the  choice  of  the 
majority;  most  people  are  fond  of  particular 
names, 'Helen ' being  the  prime  favorite.  Similar 
records  showed  that  women  read  more  than  men, 
but  reach  the  period  of  maximum  reading  sooner, 


Professor  Maturin 

the  greatest  reading  age  being  about  twenty,  the 
average  amount  small  after  thirty-five,  most 
people  reading  for  emotional  rather  than  intel 
lectual  reasons.  Yet  others  indicated  that  muscu 
lar  power  increases  and  attention  decreases  in 
summer,  the  mind  being  at  its  best  from  Decem 
ber  until  April. 

"  I  was  concluding  that  here  was  a  very  mine 
of  richness  for  the  novelist,  when  the  professor 
remarked:  4We  attribute  small  importance  to 
this  sort  of  thing.  Conclusions  based  on  reports 
from  artificially  seleded  and  incompetent  ob 
servers  and  combined  in  an  unscientific  manner 
have  no  general  validity.  Only  dired  expert  ob 
servation  of  representative  cases,  and  accurate 
statistical  study  of  all  the  fadors  involved,  can 
bring  reliable  results.  We  may  base  our  educa 
tional  ideals  on  philosophic  or  popular  theories, 
but  our  study  of  the  nature  of  mind  and  the 
ways  of  affecting  it,  to  be  at  all  valuable,  must 
be  rigidly  scientific.' 

"Well,  I  had  learned  enough  and  to  spare 
without  these  suggestive,  if  inaccurate,  observa 
tions  of  general  human  nature,  and  without  even 
looking  into  certain  rooms,  where  zoologists  and 
psychologists  united  in  studying  the  develop 
ment  of  mind  in  the  animal  world. 


Professor  Maturin 

" '  I  presume,'  I  remarked  to  Portia  as  we  left 
the  building,  'that  when  you  come  to  consider 
suitors  for  your  daughters,  you  will  inquire  into 
not  their  social  and  financial  standing,  but  their 
personal  equations  of  perception  and  motor- 
activity,  and  request  statistics  concerning  the 
central  tendency  and  variability  of  each  of  their 
mental  and  moral  traits  ? ' '  Undoubtedly,'  she  re 
plied,  'and  I  should  want  to  know  similar  facts 
for  their  parents,  and  also  the  details  of  their 
reaction  to  humidity  and  to  heat.' 

"'Shall  you  require  similar  data  concerning 
the  prospective  father  of  those  daughters'?'  I 
asked.  'Perhaps,'  she  concluded;  'but  consider 
ing  the  present  undeveloped  state  of  the  science, 
I  should  insist  on  conducting  those  investigations 
myself.  Just  now  I  have  no  time  for  such  experi 
ments.  I  must  to  a  lecture.  Good-bye.' 

"Thus  Portia  left  me  to  proceed  to  my  lunch 
and  to  cogitate  alone,  a  more  confirmed  perfecti- 
bilian  than  ever,  marvelling  at  the  achievement 
of  this  generation,  and  half  prepared  to  accept 
as  true  an  inscription  that  I  had  seen  in  the  last 
room  we  visited:  'Psychology  has  a  message  to 
the  world,  richer  and  more  original  than  that  of 
the  Renaissance.'" 


XIX 

The  Club  of  the  Bachelor  Maids 

PROFESSOR  MATURIN  told  me  that  he 
was  convinced,  after  very  brief  cogitation, 
that  no  one  but  his  young  friend  Portia  could 
have  caused  him  to  receive  the  impressively 
simple  card  which  lay  before  him,  reading: 
"The  Pleasure  of  your  Company  is  requested 
at  the  First  Annual  Gentlemen's  Day  at  the 
Club  of  the  Bachelor  Maids."  Therefore,  before 
dispatching  his  acknowledgment  to  the  house 
committee,  he  wrote  to  Portia  that  he  should  be 
more  than  happy  to  accept  the  invitation  if  she 
would  be  good  enough  to  accompany  him  and 
see  him  safely  through.  To  this  she  acceded 
with  a  promptness  that  implied  her  anticipation 
of  the  suggestion;  and  so  the  designated  after 
noon  found  them  entering  the  portal  together.  I 
quote  the  account  of  his  experiences  as  exactly 
as  I  can  remember  it. 

"The  house,  which  had  been  remodelled  out 
of  two  dwellings  in  the  fifties  near  the  avenue, 
was  very  interestingly  although  simply  furnished, 
in  colonial  fashion  for  the  most  part.  There  was 
a  spacious  public  room  with  tapestried  walls  and 

[  '833 


The  Observations  of 

wicker  furniture,  a  library  and  a  reading-room 
with  home-like  fireplaces,  and  an  extensive  lunch 
and  dinner  room  in  mahogany  and  cream.  I 
understood  that  there  were  also  Turkish  baths 
in  the  basement,  and  a  sun  parlor  and  a  garden 
on  the  roof,  but  these  were  not  shown. 

"When  I  turned  my  attention  from  the  fur 
nishings  to  the  company  which  had  assembled 
in  the  larger  rooms,  I  realized  the  truth  of  a 
recent  observation  that  our  American  women 
are  steadily  improving  in  personal  appearance. 
There  was  never,  to  be  sure,  any  crying  need  for 
such  improvement.  Yet,  after  examining  the  por 
traits  of  early  American  women  by  Copley,  West, 
and  Stuart,  hung  in  the  dinner-room,  or  the  loan 
collection  of  Malbone  and  Staigg  miniatures  in 
the  library,  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  forcibly 
struck  by  the  living  faces  about  them.  Whether 
due  to  the  operation  of  natural  selection  or  to  our 
national  crossing  of  races,  to  modem  intellectual 
advancement  or  to  contemporary  social  empha 
sis  on  better  air,  food,  and  exercise,  I  cannot 
say.  But  the  superiority  of  the  modern  women  in 
symmetry  and  grace,  delicacy  and  modulation 
of  coloring,  and  in  variety  and  individuality  of 
expression,  was  beyond  question.  The  splendid 
carriage  of  many  of  the  guests  and  their  refined 


Professor  Maturin 

voices,  Mr.  Henry  James  to  the  contrary  not 
withstanding,  were  a  delight  at  the  moment,  and 
have  been  a  pleasant  memory  ever  since. 

"Portia  was  so  much  pleased  at  my  pleasure, 
that  she  was  quite  willingly  drawn  to  a  recess 
whence  I  could  look  and  where  she  could  elu 
cidate  without  interruption.  There  she  told  me 
what  she  could  concerning  the  possessors  of  such 
aesthetic  mouths,  lustrous  eyes,  and  autumn- 
tinted  hair  as  especially  fascinated  my  gaze. 

"  I  ventured  also  to  inquire  about  the  wearers 
of  particular  gowns,  for  even  my  masculine  eye 
could  perceive,  here  and  there,  certain  rare  har 
monies  of  costume  with  appearance  and  bearing, 
and  I  was  flattered  to  be  told  of  almost  every 
person  who  thus  attracted  my  attention  that  she 
was  generally  thought  to  be  especially  interest 
ing.  Whereupon  I  jotted  down  in  my  pilgrim's 
scrip  the  observation  that,  in  spite  of  fashion, 
dress  may  yet  sometimes  become  a  subtle  ex 
pression  of  personality.  Portia,  indeed,  told  me 
that  fashion  troubled  some  of  these  ladies  so  little 
that  one  of  them  had  made  an  aphorism  to  the 
effect  that  'Individual  women  are  seldom  in  fash 
ion;  they  are  usually  in  advance  of  it.' Which 
saying  I  remembered  instead  of  my  own. 

"This  phrase  and  its  maker,  a  gifted  designer 


The  Observations  of 

of  jewelry,  deflected  our  conversation  to  the  sub 
ject  of  occupations,  it  being  a  qualification  for 
membership  in  the  club  that  'one  must  be  some 
body  or  do  something  for  one's  self,'  as  Portia 
put  it;  a  requirement  more  strictly  enforced  than 
that  of  the  celibacy  implied  by  the  name  of  the 
organization.  As  one  member  and  another  ap 
peared  or  passed  with  her  guests,  Portia  singled 
out  for  me  the  architect  and  the  decorator  who 
had  planned  and  furnished  the  house,  and  then 
the  florist  who  had  arranged  the  decorations,  and 
the  caterer  who  had  provided  the  unique  refresh 
ments  of  the  day.  There  were  also  numerous  li 
brarians  and  settlement  workers,  two  successful 
real  estate  operators,  and  the  manager  of  an  im 
portant  branch  of  the  office  work  of  a  huge  life 
insurance  company.  One  handsome,  middle-aged 
woman,  that  I  took  to  be  one  of  the  philanthropic 
patrons  who  had  made  the  club's  equipment  pos 
sible,  Portia  singled  out  as  a  practitioner  of  what 
struck  me  as  the  most  interesting  profession  of  all 
— a  department  store  critic.  It  was  her  function 
to  make  a  daily  survey  of  every  part  of  one  of 
our  immense  emporiums  in  order,  from  her  ob 
servation,  her  knowledge  of  other  shops,  and  of 
their  patrons'  tastes,  to  make  suggestions  for  im 
provements  in  stock,  display,  or  service.  I  saw 
[  '86  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

also  a  number  of  artists  and  authors,  reviewers 
and  publishers'  readers.  In  one  of  the  rooms  an 
excellent  programme  was  being  rendered  by  sev 
eral  members  representative  of  a  musical  group, 
which  alternated  with  similar  literary,  artistic, 
and  dramatic  coteries,  in  providing  entertain 
ment  for  a  series  of  weekly  club  evenings 
throughout  the  winter. 

"Upon  my  making  particular  inquiry  con 
cerning  such  of  the  club's  members  as  were 
graduates  of  our  colleges  for  women,  Portia  for  a 
time  devoted  her  attention  to  representatives  of 
that"  class.  A  number  of  these,  naturally  enough, 
were  college  instructors.  Several  were  physicians 
and  hospital  officials;  one,  an  attorney,  was  proba 
tion  officer  in  a  juvenile  court;  two  were  on  the 
editorial  staff  of  newspapers.  Many  found  regu 
lar  employment  in  religious  or  philanthropic 
enterprises;  only  one  was  in  business  —  as  as 
sistant  to  the  secretary  of  a  large  electrical  com 
pany. 

"When  I  was  unoriginal  enough  to  ask  the 
conventional  question  concerning  the  general 
attitude  of  college  women  toward  marriage,  Por 
tia  gave  what  I  instantly  recognized  as  the  only 
possible  answer,  inconclusive  as  it  was :  the  col 
lege  woman  was  as  yet  too  recent  a  phenomenon 

[  187  ] 


The  Observations  of 

for  any  generalization  about  her  to  be  safe.  The 
particular  question  of  her  attitude  to  marriage 
could  be  solved  only  by  the  well-nigh  impos 
sible  process  of  comparing  equal  groups  of 
college  and  non-college  women  of  the  same  so 
cial  kind.  Such  indications  as  there  were  showed 
no  great  differences,  except  perhaps  that  college 
women  were  likely  to  marry  somewhat  later. 

"Indeed,  I  found  that  the  club  was  intended, 
for  one  thing,  to  be  a  sort  of  outpost  for  studying 
and,  if  need  be,  aiding  the  solution  of  just  such 
problems  in  the  economic  and  social  life  of  wo 
men,  'especially  of  such  as  would  go  a-career- 
ing,'  in  the  words  of  the  phrase-maker.  Among 
the  many  announcements  on  a  bulletin  board,  I 
saw  that  a  well-known  litterateur — or  should  one 
say  litteratrice  *? — was  to  speak  on  Madame  de 
Stael,  George  Sand,  and  Mrs.  Browning;  a  phi 
lanthropist  on  Madame  Roland  and  the  Count 
ess  Schimmelmann;  a  psychologist  on  Marie 
Bashkirtseffand  Mary  Mac  Lean.  And  there  were 
lists  of  conferences  on  physiology  and  hygiene, 
sociology  and  economics,  and  religion  and  phi 
lanthropy,  in  addition  to  announcements  of  the 
weekly  entertainments  already  mentioned. 

"Another  bulletin  bore  an  equal  number  of 
announcements  of  all  sorts  of  outside  recrea- 
[  '88  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

tions,  from  the  opera  and  seleded  theatres  to 
golf  and  Adirondack  camps. 

"In  all  of  its  activities  the  organization  dis 
played  not  only  the  same  energy  but  also  the 
same  breadth  of  view.  The  cant  of  sentimental 
ity  and  the  anti-cant  of  grievance  were  alike  con 
spicuously  absent.  The  club  pidure  gallery  in 
cluded  Rossetti's  'Blessed  Damozel'and  Alma- 
Tadema's  '  Cleopatra,'  as  well  as  portraits  of  Su 
san  B.  Anthony  and  the  Countess  of  Warwick. 
Its  library  contained  social  studies  as  unlike  as 
Aristophanes'  'Ladies  in  Parliament'  and  Mary 
Wollstonecraft's  'Vindication  of  the  Rights  of 
Women ; '  and  philosophic  deductions  as  opposed 
as  Comte's  'Worship  ofWomen'  and  Schopen 
hauer's  'Woman  as  Insufficient  Reason.'  The 
only  piece  of  militant  feminism  anywhere  to  be 
seen  was  one  of  a  series  of  inscriptions  on  oaken 
panels: 

Women  have  risen  to  high  excellence 

In  every  art  whereto  they  give  their  care. 

On  closer  inspection,  I  found  this  to  be  a  quota 
tion  from  Ariosto.  Beside  it  was  an  inscription 
from  Herbert  Spencer  which  read:  'If  women 
comprehended  all  that  is  contained  in  the  do 
mestic  sphere,  they  would  ask  no  other.'  That  the 
club  realized  the  humorous  as  well  as  the  seri- 

[  '89  ] 


The  Observations  of 

ous  suggestion  of  such  juxtaposition  was  proved 
by  one  of  the  mantelpieces,  where  rested  side  by 
side  an  effigy  of  Egypt's  great  queen  Hatasu, 
and  a  fragment  of  a  Roman  matron's  epitaph, 
reading,  'She  stayed  at  home  and  span.' 

"When  I  asked  Portia  to  what  conclusions, 
if  any,  her  club  life  had  led  her,  she  confessed 
to  only  a  few,  and  those  very  tentative.  As  com 
pared  with  the  married  women  of  her  acquaint 
ance  whose  cultivation  was  equal  to  that  of  her 
fellow  club  members,  most  of  the  latter  appeared 
over-serious,  self-distrustful,  or  inconsistent.  A 
few  seemed  to  find  full  activity  and  satisfaction 
in  careers  for  which  they  obviously  possessed 
decided  gifts.  But  the  majority,  after  a  certain 
eagerness  for  experience  and  self-realization  had 
become  satisfied,  seemed  to  be  but  half-heartedly 
filling  in  their  time  while  anticipating  or  desir 
ing  something  else.  This  attitude,  together  with 
the  census  statistics,  appeared  to  indicate  that  the 
chief  career  for  the  great  majority  of  women  was 
still  through  marriage.  Whether  it  was  becoming 
less  so  for  the  kind  of  women  the  club  comprised, 
and  if  this  were  the  case,  what  was  the  alternative 
—  these  were  among  the  questions  upon  which 
the  organization  held  itself  open  to  conviction. 

"  For  herself  Portia  was  happy  still  to  be  in 


Professor  Maturin 

the  mood  of  acquisition:  there  were  many  things 
that  she  was  eager  to  learn  and  to  experience  be 
fore  it  became  time  to  inquire  what  she  was  going 
to  be.  As  yet  she  had  got  no  further  than  realizing 
that,  while  being  a  bachelor  woman  seemed  to 
have  obvious  limitations,  it  was  surely  extremely 
pleasant  to  be  a  bachelor  maid. 

"  I  very  honestly  replied  that,  considering  her 
youth  and  her  opportunities,  I  would  not  have 
her  feel  differently — certainly  not  at  present." 


XX 

A  Small  College 

PROFESSOR  MATURIN  has  always  ques 
tioned  the  somewhat  popular  belief  that  the 
small  college,  once  so  important,  is  about  to  dis 
appear  between  the  portentously  rumbling  upper 
and  nether  millstones  of  the  universities  and  the 
public  schools.  He  was  therefore  more  than  glad 
to  accept,  in  the  form  of  an  invitation  to  visit 
a  professorial  friend  at  a  country  college,  an  op 
portunity  to  see  for  himself. 

During  two  hundred  express-train  miles  away 
from  the  metropolis,  and  twenty  more  deliberate 
ones  away  from  the  main  line,  he  thought  a  good 
deal  about  the  matter,  not  without  regret  that  the 
German  ideal  of  specialized  scholarship  should 
completely  overcome  the  English  ideal  of  gen 
eral  culture.  After  the  professor's  cordial  greet 
ings,  conversation  at  once  turned  to  this  topic. 
The  professor,  however,  was  so  unapprehensive 
that  he  claimed  attention  rather  for  the  attractive 
situation  of  his  town,  after  remarking  that,  as  a 
matter  of  fad,  the  small  colleges  were  increasing 
in  attendance  and  resources  much  more  rapidly, 
in  proportion,  than  the  great  universities.  His 
[  '92] 


Professor  Maturin 

own  college,  in  the  last  five  years,  had  enlarged 
its  endowment  from  three  hundred  thousand  to 
nearly  a  million  dollars,  and  its  attendance  from 
two  to  nearly  four  hundred  students.  Five  hun 
dred  was  to  be  the  limit,  the  president  and  his 
faculty  being  unanimous  in  believing  that  no 
college  should  be  too  large  to  give  attention  to 
every  student  every  day  in  every  class.  "This 
was  sufficiently  reassuring,"  said  Professor  Ma 
turin,  as  he  told  me  about  it,  "to  permit  my  at 
tending  comfortably  to  my  surroundings,  which 
were  indeed  charming."  I  continue  the  account 
in  his  own  words. 

"  The  college  campus  stretched  along  the  main 
street,  at  the  southern  end  of  the  town  —  a  large 
redangle  of  wonderful  greensward,  resulting 
from  the  English  recipe  of  watering  for  a  hundred 
years,  and  guarded  by  a  smal^army  of  enormous 
elms  that  must  have  been  already  in  occupation 
when  the  trad  was  bought  from  the  provincial 
proprietors,  in  the  early  years  of  the  republic. 
Here  stood  the  two  buildings  that  accommodated 
all  the  academic  and  domestic  life  of  the  college 
during  its  first  half  century.  Both  of  native  lime 
stone,  with  softer  brownstone  trimmings,  the 
older  was  a  notable  example  of  the  best  Amer 
ican  public  architecture  of  an  hundred  years 

[  193 1 


The  Observations  of 

ago.  The  dozen  other  buildings  nearby  were  sim 
ilarly  landmarks  in  the  later  history  of  the  in 
stitution. 

"  The  brownstone  and  dark  brick  chapel  gave 
its  lower  floor  to  the  libraries  of  the  college  and 
the  literary  societies,  which  made  a  total  of  about 
forty  thousand  volumes,  some  of  them  purchased 
and  imported  in  bulk  by  the  founders  of  the  col 
lege.  For  student  use  the  collection  seemed  quite 
adequate,  not  indeed  for  specialization,  but  cer 
tainly  for  the  fundamental,  general  training  for 
which  the  college  stood.  The  work  of  the  fresh 
man  and  sophomore  years  consisted  largely  of 
required  subjects,  the  junior  and  senior  years 
largely  of  eledives.  This  system,  long  in  vogue, 
proved  most  acceptable,  particularly  to  such 
graduates  as  my  friend  the  professor,  who  had 
taken  in  college,  Latin,  Greek,  French,  and  Ger 
man;  much  English,  some  history,  and  a  little 
economics;  geology,  physics,  chemistry,  physi 
ology,  and  hygiene ;  mathematics  up  to  and  in 
cluding  calculus  and  astronomy;  logic,  psychol 
ogy,  ethics,  and  an  introduction  to  philosophy — 
surely  a  broad  foundation  for  his  subsequent 
specialization  in  history.  Later  experience  made 
him  wish  that  he  had  studied  also  biology,  sociol 
ogy,  and  something  of  music  and  the^  fine  arts. 


Professor  Maturin 

The  first  two  of  these  were  now  provided  by  the 
institution. 

"I  had  long  heard  of  the  president  of  the  col 
lege  as  a  distinguished  clergyman  and  a  more 
than  kindly  man.  My  first  meeting  with  him  left 
an  impression  of  rarely  mingled  strength  and 
fineness  that  every  subsequent  conversation  but 
confirmed  and  deepened.  I  saw  most  of  the  pro 
fessors,  next  morning,  ranged  on  the  chapel  plat 
form,  and  I  subsequently  learned  to  know  all  of 
them,  either  personally,  or  through  my  friend's 
charade rizations.  This  acquaintance  was  entirely 
in  rebuttal  of  the  charge  that  all  professors  belong 
to  the  mutually  exclusive  classes  of  those  who 
know  their  subjects  and  those  who  love  their  stu 
dents.  These  professors,  almost  to  a  man,  man 
aged  to  do  both.  The  amount  of  wise  and  kindly 
personal  consideration  given  to  every  student 
was  little  short  of  incredible,  and  had  notable  re 
sults  in  both  character  and  culture.  A  better-man 
nered  set  of  undergraduates  I  never  saw,  and  this 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  freshmen  indicated, 
for  the  most  part,  that  the  college  had  to  work 
with  more  than  ordinarily  raw  material.  Some 
thing  in  the  atmosphere  added  a  fineness  to  the 
prevailing  vigor,  which  delighted  the  eyes  of  a 
visitor  accustomed  to  city  anaemia,  and  produced 
[  '95  ] 


The  Observations  of 

a  host  of  generous  customs  like  doffing  the  hat 
to  professors  and  standing  in  chapel  while  the 
president  passed. 

"  I  could  not  see  that  my  friend's  very  consid 
erable  scholarship  was  hindered  by  the  obligation 
that  he  felt  to  know  the  name  and  something  of 
the  nature  of  each  of  his  students.  Indeed,  I  think 
that  it  was  rather  helped.  His  intellectual  life  had 
a  freedom  from  dreaminess,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
from  pedantry,  on  the  other,  that  I  could  attribute 
to  no  other  cause.  Such  constant  and  intimate 
contad  with  youthful  immaturity  and  ignorance 
would  probably  cause  deterioration  in  a  man  of 
inferior  ability  and  training,  but  my  friend  was 
both  able  and  well  trained,  and  so  were  most  of 
his  colleagues.  His  college  course  had  been  im 
mediately  followed  by  a  year  at  one  American 
university,  and  two  years  at  another.  Then,  after 
an  interval  of  teaching,  he  had  had  six  months  in 
England  and  a  year  and  a  half  on  the  Continent, 
finishing  in  Germany  with  a  doctor's  degree  and 
a  dissertation  of  real  historical  value.  The  others 
had  had  similar  experiences,  the  language  men, 
particularly,  having  enjoyed  prolonged  foreign 
residence. 

"  I  was  interested  to  learn  that  the  head  of  the 
department  of  English,  although  an  inspiring 

[  '96  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

teacher  and  a  writer  of  originality  and  distinction, 
had  never  been  to  college  at  all,  but  had  gained 
his  training  and  had  amassed  his  really  notable 
scholarship  entirely  through  private  instruction, 
individual  reading,  and  extensive  travel,  and  had 
come  to  his  professorship  only  after  a  successful 
career  as  a  critic  and  an  editor.  I  was  sufficiently 
impressed  by  this  to  inquire  of  the  president  how 
he  avoided  the  requirement  I  had  heard  more 
than  one  university  officer  make,  that  every  in 
structor  should  be  the  possessor  of  a  doctor's  de 
gree.  He  answered  almost  abruptly: 'In  selecting 
our  staff,  as  everything  else,  we  try  to  ignore  the 
union  label.  It  is  always  the  sign  of  the  conven 
tional,  and  the  conventional,  especially  in  the 
humanities,  too  often  means  the  mediocre.'  And 
then  he  changed  the  subjed.  That  was  surely  radi 
cal  educational  doctrine,  but  in  this  case,  at  least, 
it  was  certainly  justified  by  the  results. 

"In  fine,  the  faculty  seemed  to  me  quite  equal 
to  the  average  of  a  university  staff,  and,  because 
of  their  constant  accessibility,  appeared  to  be  con 
siderably  more  influential  as  teachers  of  imma 
ture  students. 

"  Most  of  the  professors  lived  near  the  college. 
My  friend  was  the  owner  of  an  attractive  small 
house,  with  a  bit  of  ground,  opposite  the  campus, 
[  '97  ] 


The  Observations  of 

computing  the  entire  carrying  cost  at  less  than 
three  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Adequate  food  and 
service  were  equally  available  and  cheap.  'In 
deed,  I  have/  he  said,  very  earnestly,  —  I  take 
pains  to  quote  him  exadly, —  'I  have  the  small 
est  quarrel  that  it  is  possible  to  have  with  the 
academic  income.  Ours  is  not  the  ill  fortune  of 
those  professors  who  suffer  privation  because  am 
bitious  presidents  and  business-like  trustees  agree 
that  advertising  is  better  than  instruction,  and 
spend  on  unessential  but  showy  buildings  funds 
that  would  relieve  the  men  on  their  staff  from 
financial  anxieties  distracting  in  themselves  and 
occasioning  those  efforts  to  earn  from  outside 
sources  which  so  often  seriously  undermine  a 
professor's  academic  usefulness,  if  not  his  intel 
lectual  and  physical  health.  We  manage  to  live 
on  the  two  thousand  dollars  which  is  the  pro 
fessorial  stipend  here,  knowing  that  proportion 
of  the  income  of  the  college  to  be  a  generous 
proof  of  its  belief  in  the  primary  importance  of 
instruction.  We  decrease  the  numerator  to  suit 
the  denominator.  We  seek  the  simplest  food, 
clothing,  and  furnishings;  reduce  service  to  a 
minimum;  buy  fewer  books;  take  shorter  vaca 
tions;  give  less  to  charity,  and  nothing  to  pub 
lic  causes.  Not  being  able  to  have  what  we  want, 


Professor  Maturin 

we  succeed  pretty  well  in  enjoying  what  we  have, 
sustained  by  the  intellectual  and  moral  satisfac 
tions  of  our  calling — except  sometimes.  We, 
of  course,  become  accustomed  to  the  humiliat 
ing  knowledge  that  the  public  does  not  consider 
our  labor  and  devotion  worth  paying  highly  for. 
But  the  realization  that  the  meagreness  of  our 
incomes,  by  more  and  more  separating  our  lives 
from  those  of  other  men,  is  steadily  decreasing 
our  usefulness  and  influence — that  is  at  times 
hard  to  bear. 

" '  So  far  as  living  in  a  small  town  is  concerned, 
save  for  the  spice  of  variety  which  one  may  store 
up  in  vacation,  it  furnishes  ideal  nourishment  for 
the  intellectual  life.  The  time  at  one's  command 
seems  almost  inexhaustible,  and  there  are  prac 
tically  no  distractions.  Our  social  circle  is  lim 
ited,  but  interesting.  Lacking  the  opera,  our  ladies 
become  fair  pianists.  In  place  of  museums  of  art, 
they  have  a  club  that  studies  art  appreciation  and 
history.  Instead  of  going  to  the  theatre,  we  read 
and  talk  of  books,  of  which  we  know  a  few  well 
rather  than  many  slightly.  Being  devoid  of  the 
opportunity  and  hence  free  from  the  obligation 
of  winnowing  the  current  ephemera  of  my  spe 
cialty,  I  am  constantly  occupied,  instead,  with 
the  monumental,  permanent  contributions  to  the 
[  '99  ] 


The  Observations  of 

subject.  One  cannot  do  both  things,  and  I  am 
content  with  my  enforced  choice.' 

"The  students  we  re  unquestionably  gainers  by 
their  rural  environment.  They  evidently  studied 
a  great  deal,  that  being  the  most  interesting  oc 
cupation  available.  The  cheapness  of  the  place 
enabled  many  of  them  to  obtain  for  a  low  tuition 
and  a  ridiculously  low  cost  of  living,  a  training 
they  would  elsewhere  have  been  unable  to  pay 
for.  For  recreation  they  spent  much  time  in  the 
gymnasium,  on  the  athletic  field,  and  wandering 
far  through  the  charming  surrounding  country. 
There  was  a  not  unhealthy  amount  of  what  is 
known  as  college  and  class  spirit,  with  the  nu 
merous  traditional  customs  thereto  attendant. 

"  I  could  not  see  that  the  fraternities,  which 
played  a  large  part  in  the  student  life,  did  any 
thing  more  than  give  to  natural  tastes  and  tend 
encies  an  organization  that  helped  the  student 
to  see  qualities,  and  the  faculty  to  watch  defeds, 
in  the  mass.  The  religious  life  of  the  place  im 
pressed  me  as  abundant  and  powerful,  but  in 
no  way  overstrained.  When  I  saw  some  of  the 
young  ladies  whose  habit  it  was  to  be  at  home 
to  students  on  Friday  evenings,  I  wished  myself 
a  youth  again.  The  boys  repaid  their  kindness  in 
many  ways,  not  the  least  pleasing  of  which  was 
[  200  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

the  serenading  which  invariably  followed  the 
closing  of  the  fraternity  meetings,  which  were 
held  from  ten  o'clock  to  midnight  on  the  night 
preceding  the  weekly  holiday — a  custom  that 
seemed  to  satisfy  the  youthful  desire  to  aci  very 
much  grown  up,  at  the  small  price  of  conse 
quent  sleepiness.  The  healthy  spirit  of  the  place 
frowned  on  actual  dissipation. 

"Thinking  over  my  visit,  during  the  return 
journey,  I  realized  that  the  whole  question  of 
the  relative  usefulness  of  the  metropolitan  uni 
versity  and  the  rural  college  reduces  to  an  esti 
mate  of  the  comparative  values  of  the  large  and 
the  small,  the  near  and  the  remote,  of  efficiency 
and  culture.  Our  national  environment  and  his 
tory  have  emphasized  the  importance  of  the 
large,  the  immediate,  the  efficient.  But  there  is 
always  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides  of  every 
question,  and  it  is  at  least  possible  that  enough 
importance  has  not  been  attributed  to  the  small, 
the  distinctive,  the  fine. 

"On  the  whole,"  concluded  Professor  Ma 
turin,  "  I  am  inclined  to  disagree  with  my  friends 
in  the  universities,  and  to  believe  that  the  future 
of  the  small  college  is  bright  rather  than  dark." 


XXI 

Old  Town  Revisited 

1  FOUND  Professor  Maturin,  the  other  even 
ing,  recently  returned  from  a  visit  to  the  home 
of  his  youth  with  a  bundle  of  such  pleasant  mem 
ories  that  I  set  them  down  as  nearly  in  his  own 
words  as  possible,  without  any  of  the  inquiries 
and  the  interruptions  of  appreciation  that  they 
inevitably  drew  from  me. 

"  In  the  first  part  of  the  journey  thither,  re 
peated  efforts  failed  to  conjure  up  anything  like 
a  full  and  definite  pidure  of  the  place.  But,  sud 
denly,  as  so  often  happens,  the  mists  of  memory 
cleared,  and  it  seemed  as  though  I  had  never 
been  away.  This  almost  theatrical  change  caus 
ing  me  to  look  about  with  surprise,  I  became 
quickly  aware  that  the  train  had  swung  into  the 
beginning  of  what  we  used  to  call  'The  Happy 
Valley.'  With  a  sigh  of  content,  I  sank  back  into 
the  comfort  of  old  adjustments,  with  a  sense  of 
their  completeness  that  could  come  only  from  a 
knowledge  of  later  maladjustments  to  compare 
them  with. 

"This  valley,  perhaps  a  hundred  miles  long 
and  from  a  dozen  to  a  score  of  miles  wide,  is 
[  202  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

walled  in  by  blue  mountain  ridges  of  from  twelve 
to  two  thousand  feet  in  height,  their  bases  sweep 
ing  nearer  or  farther  and  their  sky-lines  higher 
or  lower  in  a  series  of  almost  symmetrical  curves. 
The  same  restrained  variety  characterizes  the 
surface  of  the  valley,  which  billows  and  rolls 
throughout  like  a  solidified  section  of  mid-ocean. 
The  mountains,  foothills,  and  small  patches  of 
the  valley  are  still  covered  with  oak  and  chest 
nut,  pine  and  cedar  timber,  which  make  spring 
time  delightful  and  the  autumn  splendid.  Else 
where  all  is  fertile  farm  land,  squarely  fenced  or 
marked  with  low  walls  of  ever  available  lime 
stone,  which  also  provides  firm,  smooth  roads 
stretching  in  every  direction  over  hill  and 
meadow.  Many  farm-houses  and  barns  are  built 
of  this  stone,  softened  with  the  mellowness  of 
years.  Later  structures  of  local  brick  with  slate 
roofs  seem  scarcely  less  sturdy. 

"This  same  pleasant  variety  of  surface  and 
solidity  of  building  characterizes  the  town  itself. 
Cheerful  two-and-one-half  story  houses,  of  red 
brick,  with  green  shutters  still  prevail,  although 
about  the  central  square  and  along  the  business 
blocks  the  height  is  usually  greater.  I  well  re 
member  the  builder  of  the  first  three-story  house 
in  town.  The  first  four-story  structure  was  reared 


The  Observations  of 

in  my  boyhood.  Its  completion  was  celebrated 
with  fire-works  and  the  first  eleclric  lights  seen 
in  the  town.  Now  there  are  even  cut-stone  bank 
fronts,  and  they  are  building  an  apartment  house 
and  a  five-story  department  store.  Near  the  edges 
of  the  town,  where  the  dwellings  stand  back  from 
the  streets  with  lawns  and  flowers  and  trees,  the 
march  of  improvement  is  particularly  noticeable 
—  as  indeed  it  well  might  be,  for  the  place  has 
doubled  in  size  since  I  left. 

"These  dwellings  indicated  to  me  that  local 
prosperity  had  caused  the  tide  of  physical  well- 
being  to  rise  to  the  second  or  shelter  stage.  For 
merly,  ideas  of  luxury  centred  chiefly  in  food, 
which  was  consumed  in  a  variety  and  abundance 
that  would  have  made  a  dietitian  shudder.  The 
land  is  still  one  of  plenty  and  good  cheer,  and 
a  progress  through  the  town  would  delight  the 
monarch  who  said, 4  Let  me  have  men  about  me 
that  are  fat,'  but  other  creature  comforts  have 
come  to  be  considered  also.  The  stage  of  personal 
adornment  has  yet  to  be  reached:  the  men  sel 
dom  have  their  hair  trimmed  or  their  trousers 
pressed,  and  the  costume  of  the  women  is  simple. 
The  local  attention  to  such  matters  seemed  inter 
estingly  different  from  the  metropolitan  order 
of  clothing,  shelter,  food. 

[  2°4  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

"But  as  it  was  not  progress  that  I  had  chiefly 
come  to  see,  I  found  myself  returning  repeatedly 
to  the  old  town  hall,  which  once  sheltered  the 
oldest  bank  and  is  still  surmounted  by  a  tower 
of  strange  local  architecture,  bearing  an  equally 
erratic  clock.  All  this,  like  everything  else  in  the 
place,  seemed  by  no  means  so  large  or  so  impos 
ing  as  I  had  remembered  it,  and  the  bank's  dis 
appearance  prevented  the  repetition  of  our  one 
local  author's  jest  concerning  'the  bank  where 
the  wild  thyme  grows.'  But  when  I  once  more 
climbed  the  tower  and  picked  out,  one  by  one, 
the  old  landmarks,  I  felt  all  of  my  early  fondness 
for  the  place  return.  No  one,  I  believe,  can  be 
without  a  certain  proprietary  affection  for  a  place 
upon  which  he  has  often  looked  down  from  a 
tower. 

"There,  above  the  town,  my  memory  of  many 
of  its  personages  became  vivid.  First,  always,  we 
admired  the  old  Governor — we  never  called  him 
'ex,'  although  he  had  been  that  for  many  years. 
A  fine,  burly  figure,  even  in  old  age,  he  was  usu 
ally  seen  driving  to  or  from  his  model  farms  in 
a  vehicle  which  must  have  antedated  the  one- 
hoss  shay.  And  he  seldom  passed  without  some 
one  relating  how,  when  a  misguided  ram,  not 
being  in  position  to  be  awed  by  his  countenance, 

[  205  ] 


The  Observations  of 

had  made  the  conventional  attack,  he  expanded 
to  his  fullest  height  and,  with  his  favorite,  his 
toric,  expletive,  thundered:  'Continental  dam, 
sheep!  What  do  you  mean?' 

"The  Senator,  who  logically  came  next,  was 
by  no  means  so  impressive;  for,  being  regarded 
chiefly  as  a  provider  of  political  places,  he  was 
forced,  when  he  walked  abroad,  to  assume  an  ab 
straction  profound  enough  to  make  him  oblivi 
ous  of  the  hungry  eyes  of  his  constituents.  I  fear 
that  his  was  not  a  happy  life,  at  least  when  he 
was  at  home,  which  grew  to  be  more  and  more 
seldom. 

"The  General,  however,  loved  to  parade  his 
tall,  proud  figure.  It  was  currently  reported  that 
he  wore  stays;  certainly  he  carried  his  shoulders 
always  ready  for  epaulettes  and  his  head  poised 
for  a  chapeau.  For  years  he  longed  to  be  eleded 
a  Congressman,  but  always  in  vain.  A  tradition 
that  he  had  once  compared  a  poor  man  to  a  wet 
dog  embodied  the  popular  distrust  of  his  aris 
tocratic  nature;  and  his  set  speech  of  compli 
ment  to  each  village  where  he  spoke  —  that  the 
fairness  of  its  daughters  almost  persuaded  him 
to  renounce  his  bachelorhood  —  usually  waked 
sarcasm  rather  than  applause. 

"After  the  General  came  the  Colonel,  an  at- 

[206] 


Professor  Maturin 

torney  so  genial  that,  it  was  said,  he  habitually 
bowed  to  trees  and  hitching-posts,  from  mere 
force  of  habit.  Every  one  suspected  him  of  stor 
ing  up  popularity  against  the  day  when  he  might 
run  for  office.  Whether  he  ever  compassed  or 
even  desired  such  an  end,  I  do  not  know. 

"The  Town  Beauty,  I  learned,  had  long  since 
married  an  officer  in  the  army.  We  had,  I  think, 
even  more  than  our  share  of  handsome  girls, 
but  to  gaze  upon  her  was  such  an  unalloyed  de 
light  that  she  came  to  be  prized  as  one  of  the  chief 
attractions  of  the  town.  It  used  to  be  said,  jo 
cosely,  that  after  visitors  had  seen  the  new  court 
house,  they  were  always  made  to  wait  until  she 
passed,  before  any  one  would  show  them  the  way 
to  the  fair  grounds.  Certainly  she  never  disap 
pointed  the  fondest  anticipations,  except  during 
one  sad  season  when  the  whole  town  mourned. 
Most  inexcusably  she  had  attempted  to  improve 
the  lily  and  the  rose  of  her  complexion  by  means 
of  a  cosmetic,  which  must  have  been  devised 
solely  to  further  the  sale  of  the  same  manufac 
turer's  healing  lotions.  The  damage  wrought  was 
most  distressing,  and  recovery  was  slow  and 
anxious,  but  happily  complete.  There  was  some 
desire  to  express  the  public  anxiety  that  there 
should  be  no  more  such  experiments;  but  the 

[207  ] 


The  Observations  of 

lesson  had  been  learned,  and  thereafter  her  love 
liness  only  bloomed  the  richer. 

"The  persons  mentioned  were  all  conspicuous 
members  of  the  local  aristocracy,  to  which  the 
professions  of  law,  and,  to  a  lesser  degree,  of 
medicine,  were  the  open  sesame.  The  chief  mem 
bers  of  these  professions,  together  with  all  such 
persons  as  were  distinguished  for  family,  and  a 
selection  from  those  who  were  distinguished  for 
wealth,  made  up  a  somewhat  exclusive  social 
set,  which  gave  an  annual  ball,  invited  friends  to 
dinner,  and  went  on  vacations — sometimes  even 
to  Europe.  As  for  the  great  majority,  the  men 
were  devoted  chiefly  to  business  and  sometimes 
to  politics;  the  women  to  their  homes  and  their 
churches,  which  last  regulated  all  of  their  social 
as  well  as  their  religious  activities. 

"For  the  recreation  of  our  elders  there  was 
always  a  great  deal  of  driving.  It  was  possible 
to  keep  a  carriage  on  an  income  that  would  not 
suffice  for  that  alone  in  the  metropolis.  The  car 
riage  roads  were  and  still  are  excellent  and  the 
country  charming,  with  here  and  there  a  stately 
old  manor  house  for  historic  atmosphere.  Even 
then  the  mountains  were  frequently  resorted  to. 
Now  they  are  easily  accessible,  and  boast  not  only 
numerous  hotels,  but  many  cottages  to  which 


Professor  Maturin 

the  more  fortunate  go  back  and  forth  daily  in 
summer.  To  my  boyhood  the  mountains  repre 
sented  not  only  untamed  nature,  but  their  ho 
tels  were  outposts  of  the  great  world  beyond. 
The  mountains  represented  history  also,  for  on 
the  side  of  one  was  a  battlefield,  marked  with  a 
huge  cairn  of  stones ;  and  they  meant  literature, 
as  well,  for  in  one  of  the  gaps  was  the  home  of 
an  author  whose  novels  and  poems  were  in  the 
town  library. 

"With  us  young  people  bicycles  were  popu 
lar  to  a  degree  that  once,  in  the  days  of  the  old, 
high  wheels,  drew  even  a  national  meet  to  the 
old  town.  But  the  simple  attractions  of  the  place 
palled  on  our  travelled  guests,  and  the  occasion 
began  to  look  like  a  failure  until,  in  the  evening, 
the  entertainment  committee  got  together  and 
started  a  false  alarm  of  fire,  which  allowed  the 
visitors  to  pull  the  hand-apparatus  of  the  local 
fire  companies  madly  about  the  streets,  until 
their  superabundant  energies  were  exhausted  and 
they  went  to  bed  happy. 

"These  volunteer  fire  companies  were  centres 
of  the  most  intense  interest,  making  up  in  antici 
pation  and  preparation  for  the  practical  efficiency 
which,  happily,  they  were  seldom  called  upon  to 
demonstrate.  They  held  innumerable  initiations, 
[  209  ] 


The  Observations  of 

elections,  anniversaries,  and  reorganizations;  and 
they  were  always  considering,  with  infinite  atten 
tion  to  detail,  the  adoption  of  new  uniforms  and 
the  purchase  of  new  equipment.  All  of  which  we 
youngsters  ardently  emulated  with  an  organiza 
tion  which,  in  a  vocabulary  more  aspiring  than 
accurate,  we  called  'The  Juneviles.' 

"  Even  more,  if  possible,  than  by  the  fire  com 
panies,  our  interest  was  stirred  by  the  annual 
county  fair,  which,  for  four  days  in  the  autumn, 
crowded  the  town  with  visitors  and  filled  the  cen 
tral  square,  of  evenings,  with  all  sorts  of  travel 
ling  mountebanks.  This  was  eagerly  welcomed 
as  practical ly  our  only  opportunity  for  familiar 
ity  with  the  histrionic  art,  for  the  attractions  of 
the  town  theatre  were  not  of  a  sort  to  be  gen 
erally  approved.  I  remember,  however,  attend 
ing  at  least  one  performance  there  when  young 
enough  to  be  tremendously  puzzled  by  the 
difficulties  of  a  harlequin  in  attempting  to  get 
through  a  wall  the  door  of  which  mysteriously 
changed  from  place  to  place,  while  from  time 
to  time  the  wall  became  all  doors  or  showed  no 
doors  at  all. 

"Sometimes  the  few  bookish  people  gathered 
into  reading  clubs  or  welcomed  visiting  lecturers, 
who  also  conducted  discussions  and  criticised 

[210] 


Professor  Maturin 

essays,  when  anybody  wrote  them.  The  only 
lecture  that  I  recall  dealt  with  Rugby,  and  im 
pressed  me  partly  for  Tom  Brown's  sake,  but 
chiefly  because  on  that  occasion  the  most  sensi 
tive  man  in  the  town  covered  himself  with  con 
fusion  by  absent-mindedly  clapping  his  hands  to 
gether  in  pursuit  of  a  mosquito,  with  the  effecl:  of 
applauding  loudly  at  a  most  inappropriate  time. 
The  after-ledure  discussions  struck  me  then  as 
very  learned,  but  I  judge  now  that  I  must  have 
been  easily  impressed,  since  the  only  specimen 
that  I  remember  was  the  statement  that  'Carlyle 
was  a  bear,  wallowing  in  a  sea  of  words,7  made 
by  the  principal  of  the  high  school. 

"Even  now  I  should  consider  him  as  remark 
able  as  his  rhetoric.  For  he  was  not  only  the  offi 
cial  head  of  the  dozen  schools  in  his  building, 
but  he  also  taught,  alone  and  unaided,  all  of  the 
classes  in  the  high  school,  preparing  us  for  col 
lege  in  every  subjecl  frorn  algebra  to  zoology,  and 
doing  it  well.  His  only  limitation  was  that  he 
chewed  tobacco,  secretly,  or  as  secretly  as  he 
was  able  with  the  eyes  of  thirty  boys  constantly 
upon  him. 

"  Not  the  least  interesting  feature  of  my  visit 
was  the  opportunity  it  provided  for  noting  the 
present  status  of  old  schoolmates.  Most  of  them 
[211  ] 


The  Observations  of 

had  developed  indirections  that  might  have  been 
anticipated  from  their  youthful  traits.  Even  the 
fad;  that  two  of  the  most  harum-scarum  had  be 
come  responsible  bank  directors  was  explained 
by  the  remembrance  that  youthful  lawlessness 
may  often  represent  merely  a  superabundance  of 
excellent  energy.  The  school  dreamer  had  be 
come  the  chief  confectioner  of  the  town,  expend 
ing  his  imagination  on  a  new-art  shop  and  a 
summer  garden  lighted  by  the  eledric  eyes  of 
Cheshire  cats  and  owls  perched  in  the  trees.  The 
serious  boy  had  acquired  practice  as  a  physician 
until  his  stout  body  and  large  head  seemed  burst 
ing  with  incommunicable  knowledge  concern 
ing  the  local  human  comedy.  The  clever  boy  had 
become  a  successful  attorney,  more  than  satisfied 
with  his  profession  as  an  excellent  working  hy 
pothesis  in  an  unintelligible  world.  The  boy  who 
had  become  a  musician  pleased  me,  perhaps, 
most  of  all.  With  a  talent  that  would  win  dis 
tinction  anywhere,  he  rejected  the  distractions  of 
cities  for  a  simple  environment,  where  he  might 
discover  and  develop  his  spontaneous  self. 

"If  those  that  I  had  known  as  boys  were  now 
men,  those  I  had  known  as  mature  were  now  old. 
The  fine  old  clergyman  who  for  years  had  led 
in  every  movement  for  things  of  good  report  now 

[212    ] 


Professor  Maturin 

saw  much  of  his  seed  bring  forth  abundantly,  and 
had,  moreover,  the  personal  satisfaction  of  know 
ing  that  his  youngest  son  had  won  distinction  as 
the  first  Rhodes  scholar  from  his  state.  The  one 
local  artist,  a  landscape  painter,  still  pursued  with 
modest  determination  his  honest,  if  undistin 
guished,  toil.  The  old  florist  was  still  the  finest 
of  idealists  in  his  devotion  to  nature,  irrespective 
of  worldly  considerations.  I  was  happy  to  note 
that  he  seemed  to  have  prospered  materially,  in 
spite  of  his  fondness  for  giving  and  his  distaste 
for  selling  his  plants. 

"  One  or  two  old  men  that  I  had  known  were 
still  able  to  regale  me  with  memories  of  'the 
Rebellion,'  and  of  the  installation  of  the  town 
water-works.  But  most  of  my  familiars  of  that 
generation  had  passed  away.  The  two  old  ad 
mirals  who  had  so  strangely  chosen  such  an  in 
land  berth  for  their  final  cruise,  the  old  doctor 
who  urged  his  horse  by  explosively  uttering  the 
words  'effervescent'  and  'fundamental,'  the  little 
old  librarian  with  his  fondness  for  Josephus,  and 
the  sadly  wheezy  conductor  of  'the  Madrigal 
Club' — even  the  decayed  old  gentlewoman  who 
wore  different  colored  wigs  to  suit  her  gowns  — 
all  had  passed  on. 

"  But,  in  spite  of  many  such  absences,  and  of 

c  "3  ] 


Professor  Maturin 

some  sadder  memories,  my  visit  was  one  of  pro 
found  and  lasting  pleasure.  I  did  not  mind  the 
omniscient  small-town  scrutiny,  which  somehow 
apprised  my  friends  of  all  that  I  had  been  do 
ing,  even  before  I  called.  And  I  found  the  whole 
place  full  of  the  most  delightful  little  interests, 
even  for  one  who  has  so  little  of  '  the  restless 
analyst'  about  him.  From  the  point  of  view  of 
contrasting  the  residential  values  of  capital  and 
province,  the  advantages  of  the  old  town  are,  per 
haps,  largely  of  a  negative  character.  But  all  the 
essentials  of  life  are  there,  although  in  little,  and 
success  being  so  much  less  difficult,  and  failure 
so  much  less  disastrous,  the  balance  of  vitality  left 
over  is  satisfyingly  large.  It  was  not  at  all  a  bad 
place  to  spend  one's  youth,  and  it  would  be  by 
no  means  a  bad  setting  for  one's  old  age." 


I 


XXII 

The  County  Fair 

FOUND  Professor  Maturin  deeply  ponder 
ing,  the  other  evening,  the  season  when  the 
county  fair  stirs  semi-rural  communities,  all  over 
the  land,  with  anticipation,  realization,  and  fresh 
reminiscence.  "  No  one  of  our  institutions  for 
pleasure  or  profit,"  said  he,  "is  more  firmly  es 
tablished;  and  yet  students  of  local  manners  and 
customs  and  of  social  psychology  appear  to  have 
given  it  small  attention,  and  there  is  no  notable 
record  of  it  in  literature,  save  that  by  Mr.  How- 
ells  in  the  beginning  of '  The  Coast  of  Bohemia.' 
Its  phenomena,  however,  are  easily  ascertainable 
by  any  one  who  has  rural  acquaintance  or  access 
to  rural  newspapers." 

I  asked  him  to  instrud  me  concerning  the  sub- 
jed,  and  he  continued  substantially  as  follows: 

"  For  weeks  before  the  great  occasion  these 
newspapers  record  and  reflect  the  steady  growth 
of  the  greatest  enthusiasm  of  the  year.  Meetings 
of  the  Fair  Association  begin,  and  become  more 
and  more  frequent,  until  it  is  announced  that  the 
secretary  will  be  at  his  office  daily.  Immediately 
thereafter  rumors  spread,  or  are  spread,  concern- 

] 


The  Observations  of 

ing  larger  exhibits  than  ever  before,  of  live  stock, 
of  machinery,  of  household  entries;  in  short,  of 
everything. 

"Extra  offices  are  ostentatiously  opened  for 
every  sort  of  entry,  and  are  as  ostentatiously  filled 
with  more  and  more  assistants,  who  periodically 
and  publicly  exhaust  their  entire  supply  of  ex 
hibit  tags.  After  a  secretly  anxious  interval  the 
officers  of  the  association  begin  to  smile  over  the 
conscious  possession  of  actual  cash  paid  for  con 
cessions,  and  lavishly  hire  a  negro  of  aldermanic 
proportions,  in  a  costume  boasting  three  hundred 
and  fourteen  brilliant  patches  and  two  hundred 
and  three  assorted  buttons,  to  parade  the  streets 
in  the  interests  of  advertising. 

"  At  the  last  meeting  but  one  before  the  fair, 
it  is  officially  announced  that  the  'outlook  is  for 
the  greatest  collection  of  exhibits  ever  entered/ 
and  the  association  decides,  out  of  the  fullness  of 
its  heart  and  pockets,  to  equip  the  new  barn  with 
electric  lights,  and  to  issue  complimentary  tickets 
to  all  clergymen  who  apply  for  them. 

"  At  the  same  meeting  it  awards  the  '  feed 
privilege/  and  appoints  judges,  ticket-takers, 
grand-stand  ushers,  and  many  guards,  under  the 
command  of  a  military  train-announcer,  together 
with  various  unnecessary  marshals  and  sundry 
[ 


Professor  Maturin 

mysterious  functionaries  known  as  'hill-men 'and 
'hatchet-men.'  All  of  these,  especially  the  night 
guards,  speedily  become  heroes  in  the  now  almost 
painfully  wide-open  eyes  of  the  town's  small 
boys. 

"The  Poultry  Fanciers'  Association  likewise 
begins  to  hold  frequent  meetings,  planning  its 
own  exhibits  and  its  entertainments  for  visiting 
exhibitors,  and  announcing  that  silver  cups  may 
be  given  as  prizes,  in  which  event  the  cups  also 
will  be  exhibited.  Finally,  at  least  one  cup  makes 
its  appearance,  and  is  displayed  in  advance,  sur 
rounded  by  many  ribbon  rosettes  and  streamers 
destined  for  such  happy  birds  as  are  only  less  than 
the  best. 

"Hotel  and  restaurant  keepers  hungrily  fur 
bish  up  old  and  install  new  equipment,  increase 
their  attendance  and  provide  music,  and  make 
bids  for  the  reward  of  virtue  by  refusing  entertain 
ment  to  such  undesirable  citizens  as  Mormon 
missionaries.  Local  real  estate  booms  more  loudly 
than  ever,  and  local  commerce  plumes  and  preens 
itself  with  all  kinds  of 'openings'  and  'fair- week 
bargains.'  It  keeps  a  jealous  eye  on  competition, 
requiring  visiting  street  vendors  to  keep  moving; 
but  it  is  so  hospitable  to  visiting  custom  that  when 
visiting  custom's  sleepy  children  tumble  into  its 
[  "7  ] 


The  Observations  of 

show-cases,  it  grandly  refuses  to  accept  payment 
for  the  resulting  damage. 

"And  now  'the  Midway'  begins  to  cast  its 
lights  and  shadows  before.  Its  prospective  patrons 
sorrow  over  the  enforced  absence  of  the  glass 
swallower,  who  has  at  last  succumbed  to  the  rig 
ors  of  his  profession.  But  they  are  felicitous  over 
the  return  of  the  electric  woman,  and  look  for 
ward  with  eager  anticipation  to  the  yet  untasted 
delights  of  riding  on  a '  sea-wave,'  and  of  throw 
ing  rings  at  the  heads  of  a  flock  of  live  geese. 
They  read  with  avidity  long  newspaper  accounts, 
by  correspondents  who  sign  themselves  'it,'  of 
the  approaching  Russian  midget  and  the  Igor- 
rote  village ;  and  the  report  that  two  balloonists 
are  contesting  for  a  concession  distracts  them  be 
tween  the  comparative  merits  of  a  real  wedding 
in  mid-air  and  a  cannon  that  shoots  an  aeronaut 
and  a  parachute. 

"Meanwhile  'Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-Room' 
comes  to  town  with  a  tent  and  a  band  that  pa 
rades,  but  so  few  persons  attend  that  no  perform 
ances  are  given.  Local  entertainers,  however, 
climb  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  competition.  The 
Family  Theatre  provides  'An  Entire  Change  of 
Programme!'  and  the  Academy  of  Music  pre 
sents  'A  Repertoire  Company  of  World  Wide 


Professor  Maturin 

Reputation ! ! ! '  The  skating  rink  advertises  a  new 
floor,  and  a  grand  opening,  with  decorations  of 
American  flags  and  Japanese  lanterns.  And  the 
dancing  academy  announces  a  series  of  fair-week 
dances  with  a  new  palm-room  capable  of  seating 
an  orchestra  of  six  pieces. 

"Soon  the  zest  of  danger  is  added  to  the  local 
frame  of  mind  by  the  appearance  of  two  men 
"from  away/  who  appear  dissatisfied  with  all  the 
watches  that  the  leading  jeweller  can  display, 
until  it  is  learned,  after  their  departure,  that  they 
have  taken  several  with  them  for  more  leisurely 
examination.  Thereupon  all  strangers  are  looked 
upon  with  suspicion,  doors  and  windows  are 
doubly  locked;  valuables  are  guarded;  and  local 
justice  warns  or  incarcerates  on  suspicion  the  best 
or  worst-known  local  offenders,  and  congratulates 
the  town  on  the  loss  of  fewer  horses,  watches,  and 
pocket-books  than  usual.  Anxiety  over  property, 
however,  at  no  time  approaches  that  concern 
ing  the  weather,  which  cannot  possibly  last  if  it 
is  good,  although  it  will  certainly  continue  if  it 
is  bad. 

"  Local  finance  shows  its  approval  of  the  gen 
eral  course  of  things  by  promising  its  bank  clerks 
two  half-holidays,  and  local  learning  smiles  in 
dulgently  in  paying  its  teachers  earlier  than 
[  "9  ] 


The  Observations  of 

usual,  and  granting  its  pupils  a  two  days'  recess. 
The  Grand  Council  of  the  Ancient  and  Hon 
orable  Order  of  Fraternity  promises  its  annual 
visitation  during  fair  week,  and  the  church  en 
deavors  to  leaven  the  worldliness  of  the  season 
by  announcing  the  twenty-sixth  annual  conven 
tion  of  the  Woman's  Home  and  Foreign  Mis 
sionary  Society. 

"When  the  exhibits  actually  begin  to  arrive, 
one  wonders  how  enthusiasm  can  rise  higher. 
The  fair  grounds  present  an  increasingly  busy 
scene,  until  there  is  scarcely  moving  room  be 
tween  workmen  and  wagons.  Incoming  teams 
grow  more  and  more  crowded  with  exhibits  and 
exhibitors,  fakes  and  fakirs,  and,  finally,  with  visit 
ors.  Every  private  house  entertains  old  friends 
and  new.  Public  accommodations  are  taxed  to 
the  utmost,  and  trading  at  the  city  market  be 
comes  well-nigh  frantic. 

"The  visitors  represent  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men  and  women.  The  old  woman  who  has 
never  ridden  on  a  railroad  train  and  the  old  man 
who  attended  the  first  fair  fifty  years  ago,  the 
veteran  who  helped  defend  the  town  during  the 
civil  war  and  the  business  man  who  is  taking 
his  first  vacation  in  twenty-four  years  —  these 
divide  interest  with  the  principals  in  the  run- 

[    220] 


Professor  Maturin 

away  marriages,  of  which  there  are  two  or  three 
daily. 

"  N  umerous  former  residents  return  for  the  first 
time  in  many  years,  and  several  new  families  de 
cide  to  locate  permanently.  At  the  last  moment 
the  Governor  finds  himself  unfortunately  unable 
to  be  present,  but  the  president  of  one  railroad 
and  the  general  manager  of  another  come  in  pri 
vate  cars,  and  two  rival  political  candidates  are 
much  seen  but  not  much  heard. 

"Various  other  distinguished  guests  arrive  in 
touring  cars,  and  countless  other  less  distin 
guished  but  equally  dust-covered  persons  arrive 
in  carriages.  Street  movement  grows  very  brisk. 
Buggies  clash,  automobiles  bump,  and  trolley 
cars  jump  the  track;  and  over  all  begins  to  rise 
the  call  of  the  cabman,  'Going  right  out.'  By 
night  all  the  shops  are  brilliant,  sidewalks  are 
crowded,  and  in  the  square  there  are  moving  pic 
ture  advertisements,  and  the  flaring  torches  of 
vending  and  performing  fakirs. 

"The  opening  day  dawns  bright  and  clear,  and 
every  one  jubilantly  follows  the  call  of  the  cab 
men,  until  the  town  itself  seems  half  deserted.  On 
the  grounds  bands  boom,  marshals  gallop,  and 
crowds  pour  through  and  around  the  buildings. 
Within  one  of  these,  merchants  display  pipes  and 

[221     ] 


The  Observations  of 

pianos,  furniture  and  furnaces,  hardware  and 
haberdashery,  shoes  and  sewing-machines,  car 
pets  and  candy,  in  apparently  endless  array. 

"  On  an  upper  floor  the  household  department 
demands  appreciation  for  two  thousand  four  hun 
dred  and  twenty-four  glasses  of  jelly,  six  hundred 
and  fifty-one  jars  of  pickles,  three  hundred  and 
thirty  cakes,  and  eighty-nine  specimens  of  home 
made  soap.  Nearby  in  the  department  of  fine  arts 
are  paper  flowers,  worsted  mottoes,  six  hundred 
and  fifteen  pieces  of  embroidery,  one  hundred  and 
forty-two  cushions,  four  hundred  and  forty-three 
drawings  and  paintings,  and  one  hundred  and  ten 
curiosities  and  relics,  mostly  'over  one  hundred 
years  old.'  Among  the  latter  the  palm  is  borne 
by  six  cocoanut-shell  baskets  and  a  tray  of  seven 
teen-year  locust  shells. 

"Elsewhere  are  many  worthy  flowers,  shrubs, 
and  trees;  fruits,  vegetables,  and  grains — celery 
a  yard  tall,  pumpkins  a  yard  wide,  and  forty- 
seven  varieties  of  beans.  The  pavilions  and 
grounds  devoted  to  machinery  present  a  bewil 
dering  array  of  ploughs,  planters,  cultivators, 
reapers,  and  stackers;  of  threshers,  separators, 
huskers,  shellers,  cutters,  and  grinders;  of  engines 
and  pumps,  saws  and  mills,  and  of  all  things  after 
their  kind. 

[    222] 


Professor  Maturin 

"  Every  domestic  animal,  too,  after  its  kind, 
seems  to  be  represented  in  countless  pens  and 
stalls,  until  one  tarries  only  long  enough  to  sign 
the  Poultry  Fanciers'  demand  for  a  new  build 
ing  and  to  be  grateful  for  the  railroad  congestion 
that  has  delayed  many  other  exhibits,  and  then 
departs,  resolutely  undefleded  by  the  charms 
of  the  Midway,  the  miniature  railway,  and  the 
innumerable  ice-cream,  sausage,  and  popcorn 
stands. 

"  By  the  second  day  it  is  a  commonplace  that 
the  exhibition  is  the  greatest  ever  given;  every 
body  begins  to  count  it  nearly  half  over,  and 
a  few  acknowledge  that  they  wish  it  were.  The 
cabmen  complain  of  trolley  car  competition,  and 
a  sight-seeing  automobile  decides  that  its  license 
is  too  high  to  allow  it  any  profit.  Lady  visitors 
complain  that  there  are  not  enough  seats  on  the 
grounds,  that  admission  to  the  grandstand  is  in 
creased  to  fifty  cents,  and  that  the  classification 
of  the  fancy  work  department  is  years  behind  the 
vogue.  The  judges  of  jellies  and  the  connoisseurs 
of  cakes  are  prostrated  after  their  investigations 
into  the  merits  of  the  two  thousand  four  hundred 
and  twenty-four  and  three  hundred  and  thirty 
specimens  to  which  they  have  submitted  their 
respective  tastes. 

[  223  ] 


The  Observations  of 

"On  Thursday,  however,  the  third  and,  by 
tradition,  the  greatest  day,  enthusiasm  and  opti 
mism  return  under  the  stimulus  of  the  largest 
crowds  the  town  has  ever  seen.  Nobody  can  count 
the  people,  and  estimates  of  their  number  are  as 
inflated  and  soaring  as  the  great  balloon,  which 
finally  does  its  duty  handsomely.  Nine  trolley 
cars  are  counted  in  the  square  at  one  time;  there 
are  eighty  passenger  coaches  in  the  railroad  yards, 
and  one  livery-stable  entertains  two  hundred  and 
thirty-four  visiting  horses!  People  who  did  not 
expect  them  receive  premiums,  and  the  indefati 
gable  Poultry  Fanciers  have  a  parade  and  a  ban 
quet,  at  which  they  announce  their  building  as 
assured. 

"  On  Friday,  the  final  day,  the  blessing  contin 
ues  to  brighten  as  it  takes  its  flight.  The  Fair 
Association  smilingly  admits  about  eight  thou 
sand  dollars  profit,  entertains  itself,  and  its  live 
stock  and  machinery  exhibitors,  at  luncheon, 
promises  the  Poultry  Fanciers  their  new  building, 
and  utters  mysterious  hints  concerning  a  great 
aquarium  for  next  year.  Nothing  mars  the  grow 
ing  satisfaction  save  that  some  unknown  mis 
creant  drops  a  lighted  match  into  an  entrance 
ticket  box  and  burns  up  approximately  a  bushel 
of  tickets. 

[ 


Professor  Maturin 

"Such  are  some  of  the  phenomena  of  the 
county  fair,"  concluded  Professor  Maturin. 
"They  promise  much  to  any  proper  scientific 
and  literary  exposition.  Here,  as  everywhere  else, 
we  need  only  a  little  more  information  and  a  little 
more  intelligence  to  transform  our  contemporary 
superficiality  into  a  realization  of  life  that  is,  at 
the  same  time,  strong  and  fine." 


T«Svr»e4-        0. 

B« 

F991 

The  obser 

Tat  ions   of 

Pr  of*©  s  s  or 

UjEL  u  wT  «LU 

*--  -    *  

SEP   29  1& 

?f 

, 

• 

8G4917 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


